Darker than Black
by Angelinsydney
Summary: Spike went on assignment to Morocco. Will he get back alive? My usual offering of suspense, thrills and spills. Edited by Mrs Jane Sakovits.
1. Darker than Black

_A/N: 'Cameron Country' has been deleted from this site and has been uploaded on fictionpressdotcom. It has found some success with readers in the other side but I'd be surprise if it could ever match the success it has had here. Before deleting it, it's had over 5,000 hits already. _

_To those who read 'Cameron Country' as it was originally published, thank you. And to those who are re-reading this re-worked version, a double thank you._

_Thank you to all who inspired my writing. This is for you._

_Bryce Cameron has appeared in the stories 'Hell Hath No Fury', 'The Wolf' and 'Full Metal Jacket."_

******Darker than Black**

Somewhere in Toronto, Michaelangelo "Spike" Scarlatti was summoned into the head office of **START** (Special Terror Alert Response Team). He was bouncing off the wall excited to be invited to the hallowed office of his former Big Boss at the SRU. Sgt Greg Parker has recently resigned from the elite police unit to head the Police Academy and to be the first boss at START.

"Hey, Boss," he said as he entered the conference room. But his smile faded quickly when he spotted Director Blake Hinton, the silvery-haired top honcho of Canada's intelligence agency, CSIS, seated opposite Parker.

His former Boss beamed at him, the round face signalling to him to take a seat. Not long after his arse landed on the upholstered chair, Parker's Chief of Staff materialised from a back room with a briefing note. The young constable gave a formal but friendly nod of acknowledgement as he handed Spike a one page brief then left as quickly, shutting the door behind him. Scarlatti had a sudden onset of claustrophobia.

"What's this about?" he asked as his eyes scanned the page.

"It's a top secret mission that requires utmost secrecy and deniability."

"What's this got to do with me?"

"We need a geek with operational field experience. And you fit the bill." Director Hinton paused for his silent consideration. "Look, we can pluck a geek from Toronto University, vet him and put him to work. He could probably do it as effortlessly as you can but whether we can make him combat ready is another matter."

Parker gave him the low down of the mission. Spike listened intently disbelieving what he was hearing. From what little he'd been told, it's a mission from hell. The two men were sufficiently clear that they'd considered many candidates but came up with only one suitable: him.

"What's with Yoh Lin? He's a geek and a CSIS officer." It was all he could do to stave off the proposed mission.

Hinton answered, "He's currently in another continent on a long-term assignment. We can't pull him out at this late stage."

"I'd like to think about it," he said. His first thought was Winnie, he can't be thinking only of himself now.

"You can't think about it too long," said Hinton. "We want the mission underway in 48 hours. That's when you rendezvous with your partner."

"Who's the other guy if you don't mind me asking?"

"You've collaborated with him before. And he was, as I understand it, your house guest not too long ago."

"Wolf Cameron?" his brows knitted, "He's out of the Regiment."

"Out of the regular regiment." Hinton clarified.

"There's an irregular one?" asked Spike with a measure of mock disbelief.

"Don't we all?" retorted Greg Parker with an uncharacteristic lop-sided smile.

"A darker shade of black ops," muttered Spike. Hinton and Parker both smiled knowingly. Gee whiz_, how dark could that be_, he thought.

Halfway around the world, Wolf was being driven to Gregory Downs Airport. The obscure airstrip even had its own IATA and ICAO codes (GGD and YGDS) though it didn't have regular airlines servicing it. On stand-by was an AS350BA Squirrel, a helicopter from the Royal Australian Navy Fleet. Bryce exhaled silently as soon as he spotted the French-manufactured Eurocopter. Any hope he had of this mission being scrapped at the last minute evaporated.

Bryce belted himself into the passenger seat of the Eurocopter. He didn't inquire where they were heading, but by the direction it was flying it knew it was headed straight out to sea, the Coral Sea to be precise. He hazarded a guess, he would soon be a "guest" in a Frigate Helicopter (FFH).

The Royal Australian Navy currently uses the Anzac Class FFH, based on the German Meko 200 frigate design. Anzacs are long-range escorts with roles including air defence, anti-submarine warfare, surveillance, reconnaissance and interdiction. He revisited some obscure facts stored in his brain, _it has to be the HMAS Toowoomba._This frigate was fitted with an advanced package of air and surface surveillance radars, omni-directional hull mounted sonar, a Mine Obstacle Avoidance Sonar and electronic support systems which interface with the state-of-the-art 9LV453 Mk3 combat data system.

Right now, he thought grimly, his task master is on-board that ship waiting to feed him his mission details.

Bryce blocked out his mind. There was no use worrying, pre-supposing or even contemplating what hell lies before him. He closed his eyes. With disciplined effort he relaxed himself enough to fall asleep.

Nearly an hour passed, the helicopter reached its floating destination, the pilot landing it safely on the deck of the frigate. The Wolf disembarked. He was met and welcomed by the Captain and shown to an office. Waiting was his handler from Australia's overseas secret intelligence collection agency, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service or ASIS, the equivalent of the U.S.A's CIA and the U.K.'s Mi6 and Canada's CSIS.

Bryce had left the Regiment to join the intelligence branch on an ad hoc basis. _Ad hoc_, a Latin phrase meaning, "for this." _For this_ being anything of special purpose. He just didn't count on being called into action so soon. The door closed behind him, the Wolf suddenly felt imprisoned in the darkest pit. He sensed it: it would be darker than black.


	2. Rendezvous at Heathrow

******Rendezvous at Heathrow**

The problem with living in the arse end of the world was that it takes ages to get anywhere. The HMAS Toowoomba continued to sail through the Coral Sea to the Gulf of Carpentaria, during which time, the mission specifics were spelled out to Wolf.

"There's one more thing you need to know. Your partner in crime. He hasn't committed to it yet but our counterpart seemed fairly sure he'd come on-board."

The Wolf didn't say a word, merely raised his eyebrows, "Canadian Police Officer, Spike Scarlatti." The guy added, rather flippantly, "Don't know why they're sending a policeman to go with you on this mission."

Bryce cut him short, "That's because he's not just a policeman."

The ASIS man reddened, "No offence intended... as I understand it, you personally know the guy. I was merely sa..." He stopped mid-sentence when the Wolf's eyes narrowed, which was wise of him.

After the briefing, Bryce handed over his wallet and his personal phone, but first he removed the SIM card and swallowed it. Cutting the card into pieces just won't do. If ASIS wanted to piece his life together, it has a platoon of geeks to glue the pieces back together, or whatever it is they do. This way they'd have to dive for his shit to get it.

In return, he was given a passport in a new cover name, "Byron Rice", a burnt iPhone that contained the details of his flight from Darwin to Gibraltar and hotel booking, pocket money and a credit card. The Wolf turned on the device to check his e-ticket. ___Business class all the way_. His eyes lasered on his handler, "You got that one right."

"Questions before I let you loose?"

"I've got a stack of them but they're above your pay grade so let's cut the crap." Far from being insulted, the handler appreciated it; not being asked tough questions was a relief all on its own.

Shortly after the briefest of briefing, Bryce found himself being flown back to Terra Firma, this time in the direction of Darwin, the capital of Australia's Northern Territory. The same AS350BA Squirrel helicopter from the Royal Australian Navy Fleet gave him a lift and deposited him on the rooftop of Darwin International Airport's car park. People reported seeing a man slippery sliding off a rope from a helo; the rope was then dropped to the ground after Bryce landed on his feet to prevent any chance of the rope snagging any infrastructure that could potentially take the rotary winged aircraft down.

The Black Ops man was hours early. His Qantas flight to Singapore wouldn't take to the skies until 18:20 local time. With two hours to kill before check in, he called his wife Belle from a payphone.

"What's that ringing noise?" asked his adopted Somalian son Rajo.

"It's my phone," Belle felt the pocket of her shorts. She pulled it out, the screen said, ___Unknown caller_.

"Hello," she said tentatively. Her face lit up instantly and Rajo beamed, "It's Daddy?" She nodded. "Darling, speak to Rajo then we'll talk."

She passed the phone to the child, "Daddy, where are you?"

"What have I told you many times before?"

"That Daddy can't tell," he said.

"Good boy."

"Daddy, is that because you don't know where you are?"

"Could be."

So Rajo advised his father, "You should buy a map or an app."

Bryce laughed and simply said, "Is Nanna there?"

"Yes, she's cooking dinner for the army."

His voice changed, tinged with concern, "Let me talk with Nanna."

"Nanna, it's Dad. He wants to talk to you."

Sue took the phone from Rajo, "Hello,"

"Mum, sorry to leave you with the load. Ask them to leave early. Without me, there wouldn't be much to do anyway."

"Don't be silly, Billy and Raf have their work cut out for them. Besides without them, I wouldn't have anything to do to pass the time."

"Thanks, take care, ok."

"I love you, too, son."

Bryce laughed, "Me, too."

Sue handed the phone over to Belle, she turned around quickly and headed to their bedroom. She didn't want her conversation to be overheard; mainly because she knew she'd be sappy.

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm good... better."

"I'm disappointed," he teased. "I was expecting you to be wailing and gnashing your teeth." She laughed. "But at the rate you're going, you're likely to have me replaced with a pimply back packer in no time."

"You're so gross."

"See, there you go, I'm right. That's no way to talk to a man you profess to love."

"I love you." She said with such melancholy that he teased her again.

"You said that like someone's pointing a gun to your head." She chuckled despite her distress, so she said it again and this time she sounded more upbeat.

"That's better."

She told him of her plan to work on the farm's accounts, "Thank God. I knew there was a reason I married you. It'll save me bookkeeping and accounting fees."

"My services will cost you more than just fees."

"Oh," he said faking surprise, "You mean I have to pay with my body."

"You're so uncouth," she replied giggling.

"Uncouth. Gross. Silly. Are you sure you're not trying to divorce me already?"

"I miss you," she said.

"Don't change the topic, you suck at it," he mocked in jest.

"I really miss you."

"I miss you, too," he paused then added, "It'll be awhile before I can call again. But I'll be home soon."

"I'll be waiting."

"You better. I have to go Pixie, I love you." Bryce hung up before he choked.

With determined steps he went to check in, ate a proper meal and bought a book, Theo Knell's 'Hell for Heroes'. He settled in to wait for his flight to be announced at the gate, read with one eye scanning his environment every so often. Bryce, aka Wolf, had shed his civilian persona. The warrior was back in full combat readiness.

Meanwhile, it was nearly mid-night in Toronto. Spike knew they were waiting for his answer. He had thought about it and weighed the price of going or not going for his country. When he talked it over with his wife, Winnie looked him in the eye and said, "You know I have your back. Whatever you think is right... do."

"It would mean being away from you for days? Even up to a week."

"You're such a sook," she teased. "Why? Afraid I'd forget what you look like?"

He pouted. Between the two of them, he tended to be the more sooky. Maybe it was because he was an only child and had been mostly alone until she came along. But maybe it was just him to be so huggy-buggy. She embraced him, "Knowing you... you'd stay awake wondering about it... so why wonder. Just do."

He looked at her admiringly; this woman was always so wise. "Ok, I'll let the bosses know of your decision." She rolled her eyes and pinched him in the stomach in jest. "Go, do it." So that's what he did.

Not 20 minutes had passed before someone from the CSIS' HQ arrived with a diplomatic pouch. It contained a passport in a new cover identity, a burnt iphone with details of his flight and hotel booking, cash and a credit card.

"That was quick." But the courier simply nodded politely and left without a word.

He turned on the phone, checked the details of his flight and exclaimed, "Shit. You're shitting me."

"What's that?" Winnie inquired.

"The flight leaves in six hours," he said gobsmacked.

"So... what are you waiting for? Pack!"

"I swear you want to get rid of me," he said.

She laughed out loud, "What? You're only noticing now."

Spike chased her around the house. Their two golden retrievers, Moppet and Serenity, wondered what the hell was going on but joined in the fun any way. Soon though, after much mucking about the Geek finally managed to pack his essentials together. He called for a cab and was on his way.

Around this time, the Wolf has reached Changi International Airport in Singapore for a short lay-over and a change of plane. He disembarked the Qantas Airbus A320, then later boarded the BA Boeing 747 for Heathrow Airport in London.

The Geek hadn't had it easier – not by a hair. G's itinerary would require the patience of a saint. First, he had to board BA7884, operated by American Airlines from Toronto's Pearson Airport for New York's La Guardia Airport. From there, he had a horror seven hour lay-over at Newark Liberty International Airport for London's Heathrow Airport.

At Heathrow, the Geek and the Wolf would rendezvous. Then, they would both board the same plane for their mission base: Gibraltar.

___The Rock of Gibraltar!_


	3. The Gib

**The Gib**

Bryce had an hour and 30 minutes between flights at Changi International. Fifteen years of criss-crossing the globe on assignments, he had been in this international hub more times than he cared to remember. Having left the Australian continent with just the clothes on his back, he went straight to 'Billabong', which carried just his sort of fashion. He picked up one fleece jacket, three pairs of Rexford pants, two pairs of cargo sports shorts, a dozen pairs of socks. He thought about underpants for the first time in his life but decided against it in the end, _Belle hasn't complained about it._

Next stop, Giordano. This was essential kit for the Wolf. The covert operative in him didn't like wearing anything with a label or insignia on it. How easy would it be for witnesses to say, "The man was wearing a 'Lacoste' shirt." Wearing a plain, generic shirt would not pose the same problem. He picked up five plain Tees and two long sleeve ones and stuck to plain black. Understated was always the operative word for his wardrobe selection.

Then, he purchased a back pack, picking up the plainest one he could find. Amusing the shop keeper when he insisted on taking the display item, "No," she said, "I can get you a new one from the backroom." He refused kindly, insisting he liked the one people have handled, tested and so look a little worn for wear. "Don't want people thinking it's my first time outside the zoo," he said with a wink. The shop clerk laughed demurely at his lame joke.

Next stop, 7-11 for toiletries. Then he was all set for the mission.

Meantime, the Geek had been cooling his heels in Newark International. He checked his time, another three hours to go before the next plane takes off for Heathrow. So far, he had sped read through two books, both autobiographical accounts of former SAS men. When he finished Andy McNab's book, 'Immediate Action', he was convinced Aussie Bryce would be just as mad as his UK counterpart. He thought, if he has to go on covert assignment, he'd much rather an ex-SAS have his back.

With thirty minutes still to spare, the Wolf hurried to board BA12, a Boeing 747. In a different time zone, Spike was still waiting to board his connection for Heathrow. Two more books later, both historical, he had brushed up on Morocco. His conclusion, it's a hotbed. The brainiac in him filed away some important modern historical events.

_In February 2003, a Casablanca court jailed three Saudi members of al-Qaeda for 10 years after they were accused of plotting to attack US and British warships in the Straits of Gibraltar. Three months later, more than 40 people were killed in the __2003 Casablanca bombings, when suicide bombers attacked several sites in Casablanca, including a Spanish restaurant and Jewish community centre._

_In the __2007 Casablanca bombings, three suspected suicide bombers blew themselves up, a few weeks after a suicide blast in an internet cafe that injured three. More than 40 people were given long prison sentences for this bombing. Two suicide bombers blew themselves up outside the US diplomatic offices in Casablanca._

_In 2008, two Moroccan men, Abdelilah Ahriz and Hicham Ahmidan, were sentenced to 20 and 10 years in jail respectively in Morocco over the __Madrid train bombings __of 2004. Islamist Saad Housseini was given 15-year sentence in 2009 over the 2003 Casablanca bombings. He was also wanted in Spain over the Madrid bombings. Soon after, the alleged al-Qaeda leader in Morocco, Belgian-Moroccan __Abdelkader Belliraj, was imprisoned for life on being found guilty of leading an Islamist militant group and committing six murders in Belgium._

_In the __April 2011 Marrakech bombing, 17 people, mainly foreigners, were killed in a bomb attack on a Marrakech cafe. The Maghreb arm of al-Qaeda denied involvement. A man was later sentenced to death for the bombing._

_In the __2011–2012 Moroccan protests, thousands of people rallied in Rabat and other cities calling for political reform and a new constitution curbing the powers of the king. In July 2011 the King won a landslide victory in a referendum on a reformed constitution he had proposed to placate the __Arab Spring __protests._

He found out that protesters continue to call for reforms. And insurgency has been on the rise since 2002, waged by the Islamist militia, Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat, or, GSPC.

Three hours later, he was relieved when his plane was called for boarding. Another book on Morocco and he was bound to call off his participation in this hare-brain mission, for although Gibraltar was the mission base, Morocco was their intended destination, which as it turned out wasn't a tourist Mecca. _Heaven, help me! Whatever possessed me to go along with this!_

Bryce's trans-continental flight arrived in Heathrow at 05:00, an hour and 20 minutes ahead of Spike's. The Aussie didn't waste time. He'd also been at Heathrow Airport more times that he could remember. He went to shower off his travel fatigue. As per his practice he dumped his used clothing in a bin in the fast food area where garbage was emptied frequently. Operatives didn't carry laundry.

It was at the food court that Spike found the Wolf devouring food like there was no tomorrow. The Geek stealthily approached, "Is this seat taken?" he asked.

"Depends who's asking."

"Am I pretty enough?"

The Wolf laughed, "Bloody sit your ugly mug down." He glanced at his time, "We've got an hour to kill, so grab something while you can." Spike went off in search of food and returned with a tray of salad. Bryce took one look and said, "Rabbit food? Really?"

"Can't handle anything heavy... not with another plane to catch."

"Fuck me, mate..." replied the ravenous Wolf.

Spike noticed that Bryce had this certain alertness about him, he didn't much like it. He tucked into his salad and wondered what the Aussie's part was in all this; since for the safety of both operatives, Bryce only knew his part of the mission; and Spike, his part. The strict protocol was to protect the mission in case one of them was lifted.

At 07:30, both men strode to the boarding gate, settled themselves in for a four hour flight to Gib, as Gibraltar is unofficially known. A British overseas territory, it is located near the southernmost tip of the Iberian Peninsula overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar. The territory shares a border with Spain to the north; and a mere spitting distance across the pond from Morocco. More importantly, it is a base for the British Armed Forces and is the site of a Royal Navy base.

On arrival, the Wolf checked in at 'The Rock Gibraltar'. The Geek into 'O'Callaghan Elliot Hotel.'

Bryce went to work immediately. His task was to insert Spike in Morocco and then ex-filtrate him and possibly another character by any means necessary - except legally. They both could not be seen to have arrived nor departed Morocco under any circumstances. And, of course, act as the Geek's protector.

He'd also been to Gib more times than he cared to remember. Morocco however was another thing altogether. He lived in Rabat for six months on undercover assignment back in 2008, as part of a covert team to find those responsible for the 2004 Madrid bombing. He wondered whether he was tempting fate just being across the pond.

So what did an Australian SAS have to do with the Madrid bombing? Spain and the UK are close allies, both members of NATO. When one hurts so does the other. In 2008, up to 2010, the Wolf was on secondment to the UKSF, so he was neck deep in it, too.

The Wolf looked out to the Mediterranean sea. _Fuck. What's the probability I'd bump into someone who wants to chop my head off_, he thought grimly. But he didn't dwell on it. He was trained to only act on facts, not on probabilities.

He moved on quickly. In October, the average sunlight hour in Gib is four hours. "Bloody stingy," he murmured. In his backyard, sunlight in October is at least 12 hours if you're unlucky. He teed up to meet someone to arrange for a seafaring craft. Something plain, small but speedy. The plan: covert entry by sea.

Spike didn't know it yet but their entry and exit would be the hairiest experiences of his life. One he wouldn't care to repeat even if his life depended on it. In the meantime, he enjoyed the cosmopolitan atmosphere of downtown Gib. Even with a population of just 30,000 it was nevertheless ultra-crowded for it is only 6.8 square kilometres in size (2.6 sq mi) and most of it occupied by 'The Rock of Gibraltar', a monolithic landmark in the Mediterranean.

In Toronto, Winnie was busy at work and also busy fielding questions from friends, "Where's Spike?" The wise Mrs Scarlatti merely said, "He's away for a bit of R and R."

The usual follow up comment was "Good on him."

When she arrived home from work, she logged online hoping for a message from Spike, there was none. But the answer machine's light was blinking, she pressed play but all she got was a tongue clicking sound in Morse code, "I've arrived." she smiled.

She went to see what Moppet and Serenity were up too. The Golden Retrievers were out in the yard. Serenity, blind from birth, came over for a back rub and a cuddle. Moppet, their three-legged dog, just moped. Daddy's girl was pining for Spike. She patted her affectionately, "Dad will be home soon."

It was morning in Gregory Downs, Belle prepared to batten down to do her accounting for the farm. Sue opened a storage unit full of shoe boxes. "What's that?" she asked.

"Everything you need to start, over five years of receipts, invoices, papers. We call it 'shoe box bookkeeping'," said Sue. She smiled at her daughter-in-law, eyes sparkling naughtily, "Good luck. Oh, I'll make you snacks and bring you something cool to drink. You'll need it."

Belle stood in front of the filing unit, if you could call it that, and braced herself. She felt panic rising from within her belly but decided 'no harm, no foul." _If it takes me a year to sort these out, that's ok, what's another year of not filing a tax return._

Rajo though had a problem. He'd been seriously worried about it since his Dad married Belle. But he was uncertain how to bring it up. He watched Belle momentarily before deciding it probably didn't matter anyway. He hunched down, ready to batten down with home schooling. His Aunt Billy, Bryce's youngest sibling and only sister, noticed. She called the boy over to ask what was wrong, the boy tearily said, "If Daddy and Belle have a baby, will I still be my father's son?"

Billy affectionately hugged the boy and said, "Of course. Remember, he carried you on his back for nine weeks. And we've loved you ever since."

The 300-klick mercy trek from the bush hospital in Somalia to the border of Kenya took nine weeks; in all that time, Bryce carried the then 12 month old baby on his back. Ordinarily, it would have taken the Special Forces men two weeks to walk that distance even in rugged terrain and carrying 30 kgs of gear. But they had 30 refugees with them who were sick, infirmed, and many were orphaned children. At the same time, they were dodging insurgents and other hostiles.

Belle turned around in time to catch the affectionate embrace between Rajo and Billy. Funny that, she thought, I went from being single to being a wife and a mother in the space of a week.

One day, very soon, Rajo would find out that he hadn't lost a father, but had gained a mother.


	4. Morocco: By Stealth and Sea

_Author's Note: This story takes place in October, all time differences were calculated using Coordinated Universal Time or Zulu Time. For this story, Gibraltar is six hours ahead of Toronto and Queensland is eight hours ahead of Gibraltar._

**Morocco by Stealth and Sea**

Bryce called the contact on the ground, known by his simple sobriquet 'The Asset', the 'go-to' man for black operatives with requisition for gears and hardware. So while the Geek enjoyed the scenery as a regular tourist, the Wolf arranged to meet the Asset in the café by the foreshore just 500 metres from his hotel. The meeting place was open to the public; but then, sometimes the best place to meet someone clandestinely was out in the open.

With three hours still to kill before the meet, the Wolf sat on the shoreline with a binocular performing a visual recce of the land across the Straits. Armed with a sketch pad, coloured art pencils, and a book called 'Birds of the World', he appeared as someone interested only on the birds of Gibraltar.

Aside from the regular commuter ferries between Gib and Morocco, there was a plethora of pleasure crafts of all shapes and sizes. Day and night, it was a very busy maritime highway. A night time insertion in a slow moving water vessel without lights would be suicidal. So what he initially thought to be the best way forward was soon ditched. But soon a smile creased his face, he had figured out the perfect way in; all things considered.

Spike was among a throng of tourists getting acquainted with Gibraltar's other famous residents, the Barbary Macaque, when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He separated himself from the group to answer it, eyes fixed on the distant views of _Upper Rock Nature Reserve_, "You've got it all figured out?"

Bryce, with a smile in his voice, replied, "Yup, I have. How's your swimming skills?"

"Swimming? What do you mean swimming?" the Geek asked in surprise.

"Can you talk any louder?" chastised Bryce.

Spike hissed on the phone, "What do you mean swimming?"

"It's the best way to get from here to there without being seen. You can do it mate, trust me. We leave tonight 22:00 hours, sending you the coordinates. Don't be late." The Aussie hung up and Spike was left to stare at his phone. _Swim? From here to there_. He wished he had stayed home.

Bryce checked his Baby G; 13:00 hours, _it's time_. He gathered his paraphernalia and moved his arse to the café. The enigmatic and nameless, salt-and-pepper haired Asset, a relic from his recent pass, not three months ago to be precise, looked the same as always. Dressed impeccably in a suit, polished leather shoes and accessorised by his Cartier wristwatch, the spook looked the part of an expatriate executive.

Bryce eased himself on the seat opposite. The Asset appraised him in his casual long sleeve black Tee and denim Rexford pants. The Australian sun had tanned him to a deep shade of brown; his thick brunette hair a wind-blown mess on his head. "You look good."

"Thanks," replied the Australian, long used to people complimenting him on his looks, although in truth he often thought it odd. He didn't rate himself as good looking for when he looked at himself in the mirror all he saw was someone scarred, he didn't realised it simply added to his mystique. The length of his right cheek, from the cheek bone to his jaw had a scar that was a result of his face being sliced open with a machete. The wound was sutured by a fellow SAS in the battle field of Somalia. It was his first surgical experience without anaesthesia and he vowed never again.

Bryce gave the book of birds to the Asset who casually opened it to the first page to read the 'dedication'. With practiced skill, Bryce said, "Better late than never, eh."

The Asset, reacting to the ad lib with aplomb, replied, "Yeah, you took your time."

"You know me I only read a paragraph a day."

The Asset closed the book, nodded with a smile. "Coffee?" he asked.

"Cappuchino, no sugar," replied the Aussie.

"Great… cause you're buying."

"I'm buying?"

The Asset smiled, waved the book and said "Penalty for late return."

Bryce waved a waitress over and ordered his choice of hot beverage, the Asset did the same The young waitress with a name tag, 'Isabel' flirted openly with the Aussie much to the amusement of the Asset, "You still have it, mate" he said when she left to place their order.

Bryce smiled but kept their dealing strictly business. "I'm on a rigid time-table. How soon can you get another book to me?"

The Asset made a show of reading the dedication but it was actually a list of what Bryce needed. It listed "Wetsuit, dive gear, primary and back-up dive light, Glock 17, night vision goggles, GPS navigator, water proof pouch."

"I need two," Bryce clarified.

"Give me an hour," replied the Spook, "Where would you like me to drop it off?" Before he could reply their coffee arrived. Bryce thanked the waitress who lingered longer than necessary. He wasn't in any mood for polite and idle talk and was relieved when new customers walked in, although the same could not be said of the young woman.

They waited until she was out of hearing range. Bryce asked, "Do you still have that boat?"

"Sure, it's moored in the same place."

"Deliver it there, in an hour. You don't mind if I hang around there?"

"It's yours. Happy sailing."

"Thanks, I better go…"

"You better… she's got the hots for you." The Wolf smiled and hurried off without appearing to hurry.

The Wolf made himself at home in the boat, a good-looking yacht paid for by the British taxpayers. Not a bad incentive to live the life of an expat spook, although James Bond's lifestyle didn't appeal to him. The yacht's bobbing in the water lulled him to sleep in no time. With a late night swim planned for 22:00 hours he would be foolish not to take advantage of the chance to snatch a well-earned kip.

Spike, the Geek, thought the same the second he received the message from Bryce, the coordinates showed it was the marina. He disengaged himself from the rest of the tour group and made his way back to the hotel. 15:00 hour_. Seven hours till the planned invasion of Morocco_. Better get some sleep. He closed the curtains, played music from his iPhone, and showered. The ritual helped him to get in the mood for sleep, at any rate his body didn't need much convincing, he was ready for sleep the minute he hit the mattress. The nearly 24 hour flight from Toronto to Gibraltar guaranteed he was pretty whacked. But before he passed out, he thought of Winnie_._

Bryce woke up instantly as the floorboards on the pier squeaked. He was up on his feet before the spook could set foot inside the yacht. Wordlessly, salt and pepper haired Asset passed the gears stored in a canvas holdall to the Australian. And with just a nod, he was off again. If there was anyone listening or observing them, there would be nothing to report.

Bryce opened the holdall, inspected the diving gear and was happy to find everything he required and they were in good nick. All he has to do now was wait.

Alone with his thoughts, he could only think of his wife. He wondered what Belle was doing; he checked the time difference, _midnight in Gregory Downs_. "Sweet dreams", he murmured to himself.

But half a world away, Belle couldn't sleep. _I hope you're ok_. She tossed and turned in the hammock, wrestling with her troubled soul. But fatigue won out an hour later, and eventually she fell into a listless sleep.

Fifteen minutes to 22:00 hours, Spike was whistling on the walkway. Bryce came out of the yacht to meet him. "This is it! It's the big swim." He could tell that Bryce was all psyched up, bubbling over with excitement. _He's really insane_.

"I'm raring to go!" Bryce tossed Spike the wet-suit, "Suit up. Trust me, there's nothing better than night diving. It's only 12 miles. It's pretty rough water out there and the water is freezing. And there could be sharkies… so stay sharp."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"No, just sayin," the Wolf replied with a wink. "Don't worry I've got your back."

Scarlatti looked out to the twinkling lights across the pond, it didn't look far. Twelve miles was really nothing. He thought if he could disarm ticking bombs for a living, _surely, this can't be too bad._

They changed into their wet-suit and packed their shoes, shoes, phone, wallet, passport, fire arms, night vision goggles and GPS navigator in the water proof pouch.

"Ready?" Spike nodded.

Bryce double-checked Spike's gear, made sure everything was tight and breathing nozzles were correctly connected to the valve of the diving tank. And Spike did the same for him.

Ideally, they should have done this in twilight, it would have been easier to get their scuba equipment on and make their entry while there was still some light to work with. And as night falls while underwater, they would have been able to gradually acclimatise to the darkness instead of plunging into it from the start. But they had no choice.

Bryce estimated that it would take them at least four hours to make the crossing. He planned a shallower scuba dive. Typically scuba divers use more air on night dives so a scuba tank will not last as long as it usually does. To stay down longer, they would have to make sure they stayed on course. Wondering off course would be a death sentence for them. Using lights on the shore, Bryce marked the destination and the landing point.

"Stay close at all times," was the last thing Bryce told Spike before they back flipped into the darkness. _I swear to God this is the last time I'm doing this_, was his last thought before the inky water swallowed him. It took all his might not to panic, he felt Bryce's hand on his back, turning him toward Morocco.

Breathe easy, breathe shallow. Spike kept repeating to himself like a mantra. When they reached the other side, he was in a state of near post traumatic stress.

"You did well mate." said Bryce slapping his back, grinning like a Barbary macaque.

Spike shook his head and said, "Mate, I met some of your relatives from the other side, remind me to introduce you to them on our return."


	5. On Dry Land

******On Dry Land**

Still collapsed on his knees, in a state of mental fog and physical exhaustion, Spike looked out to sea, stretched out before him was the outline of the coast of Tarifa, Spain. ___How the hell did we do that?_

It was a daring feat by any measure; and a super quick tutorial on compass navigation. Much to Spike's chagrin, a GPS receiver does not work underwater, so to get from Point A to Point B, they had to rely on the good old compass.

Bryce patiently explained ___compass navigation _as he sailed the yacht from its moorings in Gibraltar to Punta de Tarifa, Spain; the shortest distance to Punta Cires in Morocco. Handing him a compass, they started the tutorial with the basic. "The part of your scuba compass that moves, and always points north, is called the card. It has N,S,E, and W indicated, and a bevelled edge with numbers on it. The movable ring around the edge of the compass is called the bezel. The orange line or double line across the top of the compass is called the lubber line, and finally, there's a little window in the side of your compass." Spike flipped it on its side and found the side window that Bryce was talking about.

"We will each have a compass attached to our belts. Also attached to it is our water proof pouch. Any questions so far?"

As much as he hated Wolf's guts, the Geek was sufficiently intrigued. He wouldn't admit it to the Aussie but he, as a matter of fact, was enjoying the learning aspect of this mission impossible. He replied, "Nope, carry on."

"Point the lubber line on top of your compass at where you want to go, with the side window facing you, and note the number. The edge of the card is bevelled at 45 degrees – this is so you can see the numbers on the edge both from the top and through the side window. As long as you hold your compass flat in front of you with the lubber line pointing in the direction you're swimming, you should always see the same number in your window, as long as you're going the right way.

"If you see a different number, turn until you see the same number. It sounds too easy but that's really it." The naturally inquisitive geek wanted to see for himself. He picked a random destination, and noted the number. As the yacht sailed on, the number on the compass changed so he turned to face the right direction to get the right bearing. The Wolf smiled admiringly as Spike grasped the concept quickly.

Satisfied he'd got the hang of the technical side, Spike grilled Bryce on the plan. "How sure are you we can do this?"

"Two years ago, a quadruple amputee swam across the Strait of Gibraltar in just over five hours. If he can do it, you can too. The route across is an eastern flow of water from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea with an average of 3 knots (5.5 km per hour). The Strait of Gibraltar isn't particularly difficult in terms of long distance open water swim."

"Are you kidding me? Not difficult."

Bryce smiled reassuringly at Spike, "Trust me. I've done it twice with my mates. We had nothing better to do so we wagered on who could do it fastest. With excellent physical condition, the distance is manageable. The water temperature shouldn't be a problem; the average water temperature in October is around 22-23C (roughly 73F). We should be able to do it in less than four hours... five at the most."

By the time they reached Tarifa, they were both suited and kitted up. Five hours later they were on Punta Cires. Spike glanced at the Aussie. ___He should feel as beat as me_. He hung his head knackered yet Wolf was on his feet and already stripping off his wet-suit.

Bryce looked at the Canuck, "Better move your arse, mate. It's close to the crack of dawn; we're not supposed to be here." So despite agonising muscle cramps, Spike got up to his feet and wrestled with the wet-suit. The cold early morning air assaulted him, he gritted his teeth as they started to chatter. They changed quickly and quietly. Occasionally, Bryce would look around as if he expected to see some phantom beings. Among the craggy rocks, they found a hiding place for their gear.

They walked silently up rocks and hillside, lost in their own thoughts. Bryce stopped at the top of a ridge, turning to Spike, he said, "It's your mission, mate. Do what you have to do. I've got your back."

The Geek nodded, realising that from here on, it was up to him to get things done. "You've done half your bit," he said. "You got me here... but you bloody make sure I get back to Winnie."

The Aussie replied poker faced, "No pressure, mate." He expelled a lungful of air, "I gotta get back home too. Alive preferably. So let's get this show on the road - over and done with. After you, mate."

Spike took the lead, Bryce covered his back.

Meantime, Winnie was now feeling Spike's two-day absence. Packing the dogs, she moved in with her parents, "Just for a few days," she said to herself.

She arrived at her parents' home unannounced, and was subjected to the inquisition. Her father John asked if they were having marital problems, Winnie laughed and said, "No, he's just away on a holiday."

"Without you?"

"Yeah, there's nothing wrong with a married man having some time off by himself. He's earned it."

"I don't know about that..." he said, then continuing on with the Q and A, "For how long?"

There goes the core of the issue, how many days was 'a few' she couldn't tell. She hid in her old bedroom to avoid any further grilling. She logged online to see if there was a message from her husband, none. Absent-mindedly tapping the 'enter' button on her computer keyboard nervously, she decided this was the last time her husband was going to do CSIS' bidding. A passing thought came to her, ___I should call Sargent Parker, _but in the end she chose not to.

The two canines sensed her mounting anxiety and hovered close. She smiled at them, "Come, let's go for a walk."

Back in Gregory Downs, Belle started Operation Tax Returns. Working methodically, she soon got a system going. It didn't take long before she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the farm wasn't viable. A feeling a dread consumed her.

Watching her from the kitchen, Sue read the situation. She brought afternoon tea to Belle, wrapped an arm around her and said, "Don't worry, he'll come around."

Feeling isolated, and now stressed by the reality of their financial situation, she fought the tears as she thanked her mother-in-law for the tea. The older woman sat opposite her and opened up, "The farm was propped up by Bryce's salary. When he was still with the SAS, his annual income was in the six digits, most of them hazard pay. That man of yours dances with death for a dream...for a life away from human drama. I don't think he sees the irony of it."

Belle nodded weakly.

Sue continued, "Bryce's military pension is a pittance. He gets the same pension as a retired army cook." She wanted to say more but she hesitated, feeling it wasn't her place to say it.

"What is it?" asked Belle. "Please tell me."

Sue took her hands and said, "I hope I'm wrong, but I think he's 'on call' for operations for the pay. It's his way of providing for all of us." Belle burst into tears.

Her in-law cried with her, "I've told him often enough he doesn't have to worry about me. I have enough for myself. When he comes back... you both need to talk about this. He can't keep doing this... there has to be a better way to provide for a family."

"Do you know what he does when he goes away on operation?"

Sue shook her head, "Always top secret. Need to know. I'm as much in the dark as you are. He'll be back soon." She patted Belle's hand, "He always comes home."

In Morocco, Spike and Bryce reached the centre of Tangier, the second most important commercial centre after Casablanca. A beautiful heady mix of old and new, it was an amazing destination. But they weren't there for a holiday - they came to do a job.

Reputed to be a safe house for international spying activities; Tangier's position during the Cold War and other spying periods of the 19th and 20th centuries is without equal in popular culture, so much so that it has become a subject for many spy fiction books and films.

Now Spike was in the thick of it, too. He sat in a traditional café opposite the American Legation on 8 Rue d' Amerique. The grand Moorish-style building of stuccoed masonry was presented to the U.S. in 1821 by Sultan Moulay Suliman. The first property acquired abroad by the U.S. Government, it housed the U.S. Legation and Consulate for 140 years, the longest period any building abroad has been occupied as a U.S. diplomatic post. The edifice was a symbol of the 1786 Morocco-U.S. treaty of friendship, which is still in force today. During World War II it served as headquarters for U.S. intelligence agents.

Seventy five years later, the spooks haven't left ___and_ they're not all Americans.

Spike sat alone. The Wolf watched from a distance. Ten minutes later, a middle age, darkish man surreptitiously nodded at the Geek, then occupied the table opposite. Spike didn't hear the cell phone ring but like everyone else he thought the devise must be on vibrate. The man put it to his ear and in heavily accented English said, "Yes. Yes. I'm the one." Then he paused before adding, "Ok. See you soon."

___That_ was the code.

Finishing his tea, Spike paid and left. He wandered about like a regular tourist but kept within sight of the café. The man stayed long enough to drink up his beverage, crossed the road, then entered a shop selling traditional costumes. Spike followed.

From his observation post, the Wolf's eyes narrowed. He didn't like this one little bit. He casually walked to the shop-front, the glass window and door were opaque; and the door was locked.

___Oh, shit!_


	6. The Chase to Medina

******The Chase to Medina**

Bryce made a snap decision to operate on trust. Trusted Spike Scarlatti knew how to protect himself, how to leave a trail and how to extricate himself preferably with all his limbs intact, from the situation. ___Now's not the time to flap._

He couldn't break into the shop without risking jeopardy. Thinking quickly, he walked down Rue d' Amerique till he found a clothing shop that sold traditional Moroccan clothing. The dark skinned, tall Australian could easily pass for a Berber even with the bluey-green eyes. It's not uncommon for Moroccan natives, the Berber, to have blond hair and blue eyes being so close to Europe.

He walked into a clothing bazaar, picked up a dark blue djellaba, a traditional long, loose and hooded garment. It covers the entire body except the head, hands and feet. He tried it on over his clothes much to the appreciation of the shop keeper.

Then he selected a pair of black Moroccan slippers called Berber babouche, tried them on and was pleased that they were comfortable; but there was no way in hell he was going to part with his dessert-sand coloured Garmont T8 multi-terrain combat boots. If they had to leg it, not that he was considering this as an extraction option, a pair of Berber babouche weren't going to cut it.

Guesstimating for size, he purchased a maroon-coloured djellaba and a brown pair of slippers for Spike.

Lastly, he picked up a fabric used for turbans, not to wear on his head since the weather was quite warm in the Tangier; rather to use as a tote bag in the same way East Timorese used the sarong as a carry-all. He tied the ends together, looped it across his shoulder then used the fold to hold his purchase. The shop keeper smiled at the ingenuity. Just to make sure nothing would fall out of the fold, he turned it over twice, tightly sealing the opening.

Happy, he paid for the items and hurried back hoping Spike and what-cha-ma-call it were still in situ. He went into the traditional eatery across the street where the Geek had his coffee. Starving, he ordered traditional Moroccan meals and parked his arse on a seat that had direct eye-sight of the shop-front and casually watched for any activities.

Spike was shown to a room at the back of the upper level. His eyes surveyed his surroundings - there was nothing much by way of furniture; except for a washed out carpet on the floor, two worn Berber leather ottomans on which to sit; a low, chipped, mosaic table; and a brass tray with a tea pot and two traditional glasses. The woodwork on the wall was exquisite with inlaid carvings of traditional Moroccan motif and the colours, vivid but it has seen better days.

"Please sit down. Would you like tea?"

"Thanks, that's very kind of you but I just had one."

The stranger nodded politely, taking no offence. "I'll be right back." The Geek sat on the ottoman, and tried to keep calm, trusting the Wolf was right outside, most likely in direct sight of the shop. As he waited for the contact to return, he thought of how he might get a message to his partner. Calling the Aussie on the cell phone wasn't an option.

He didn't have to wait long, the man came back shortly with a thumb drive. "I'm sorry for the cloak and dagger meet. These precautions are necessary." It's an early impression but there was something about the man that didn't sit well with Spike but then this was exactly why he was sent here; to assess the legitimacy of the man's claim and to verify his true identity.

CSIS, through an intermediary had received a request for asylum from someone claiming to have sensitive information about Algerian terror group, Salafist Group for Preaching and Combat (GSPC). According to a so-called "highly credible source", the man had proof that the group's influence and tentacles had extended well beyond Europe and sown seeds of discontent among North American disenfranchised Muslim youth. He also claimed that moderate Muslim clergies in the U.S. and Canada, those who had been preaching peace, co-existence, and tolerance would be eliminated. A list of those targeted allegedly existed.

But a man claiming asylum may just be the double agent no one wanted to have in their own backyard. Realistically, uncovering if he was a double agent was asking for the impossible. However, it was hoped that the Geek would be able to determine with some degree of accuracy whether the sensitive information being supplied as proof was genuine or a hoax. START and CSIS were counting on Spike's deductive reasoning and computer savvy to find out before they extracted him and granted him asylum because once in their backyard if they got it wrong, it would quickly unravel into one ugly problem.

Spike received the thumb drive and smiled, "What do I call you?"

"Youssef Tariq." Eyeing the drive in the Canadian's hands he added. "Everything is in there."

The Canuck nodded, "Ah... first, can I use your toilet?"

"Of course, it's the first door to the right."

Spike followed the man's finger with his gaze and nodded, smiling gratefully.

He turned right, opened the toilet door, then waited a sec to check if Youssef was watching him. Convinced the coast was clear he tip-toed to the room next to it, the one facing the street. There was no way to be sure the Wolf was watching but he had to send him a message regardless. He found the light switch on the wall, flicked it a few times, on and off. Bryce was immediately on the alert - it was a message in Morse code, WATCH. Relieved, the Wolf devoured his food. With the message sent, Spike softly treaded his way backward from the room so if Youssef came out looking for him he wouldn't bump into him front-on.

Wondering what was taking so long, the would-be defector came out of the living room to check on Spike. The Geek glanced backward, acted a little surprise and a little worse for wear, "Ah wrong way. Sorry, I'm jet-lagged."

"It's understandable."

They went back inside the living room, eyeing and sussing each other out. Spike coughed and thumped his chest, "I think I'm coming down with something. Do you mind if we catch up again tomorrow? I'm here for a few days."

Youssef fidgeted. The geeky accidental spook reserved judgment whether the appearance of nervousness was for his benefit. The asylum-seeker pleaded, "What about me? I've been here for two days waiting. There could be GSPC spies looking for me."

Demonstrating an acting skill he didn't think he had, Spike puffed his chest out, and whispered, "Don't worry, I didn't come alone. I came with an extraction team. As we speak they're all over the place watching over us. You'll be fine. I'll check what you've got for me, if it's all legit, we'll extract you ASAP."

The man paced, angrily hissed in strong accented English, "What's my guarantee that you won't leave me stranded here after you've taken the information? No way… not good enough." He was right to be paranoid. So far, the man was acting legitimately. If he was in Tariq's place, Spike thought, he'd want to have some guarantee as well.

Changing the topic, he asked, "Who owns this place?"

"A friend. They'll be back shortly."

"Look, I'm jet-lagged. I feel sick. And I'm hungry. And I still need to verify your information. So what do you say let's go and have something to eat and take it from there."

"Good," he said, "Come with me."

Youssef led the way out of the shop, as they exited, Spike briefly locked eyes with Bryce. After closing up the store front, the Algerian hailed a taxi. Bryce coolly hailed one coming from the opposite direction. He glanced back to see the rear of the taxi disappear quickly from view. Catching up to them was not possible but he could track them. Turning on his iPhone, he hoped that Spike's was on. He activated an App and was relieved to see a blinking green light. But having to pass on to the cab driver the GPS instruction's though would be a problem so he did the next best thing, he offered the driver money to drive himself.

The driver was confused until he peeled off a US$100 from his pocket, stuffed it in the driver's shirt pocket and said, "I drive, you sit." Finally understanding the deal, the cabbie with two missing front teeth smiled, "Ok, ok." He scooted over to let Bryce jump into the driver seat. Then it was one harrowing, white knuckle ride until the Wolf caught up to Spike's cab. Bryce glanced at the driver who was no longer grinning. He laughed.

It was eight pm and still light where Belle was. She went out on to the veranda, sat on the old rocking chair and looked up at the sky, willing for the sun to go down and for the moon to come up. Hoping it would hasten the passage of time. Billy came over, sat on the deck and looked at her thoughtfully, "You're worried?"

There was no point lying. She nodded, fighting the tears. She told Billy she wasn't just worried about Bryce, she was also worried about Cameron Country, their ancestral land he was turning into a modern working farm after years of neglect. She would have to tell him to let it go. "I'm the messenger of a failed dream."

Billy hugged her legs, "Belle, do you know much about wolves?"

"Sorry?" The flame-haired pixie was taken by surprise.

Billy smiled. "I was just five when Bryce left to join the Army. Six when he returned for a visit. He showed me his tattoo of an Australian wolf on his back. I asked him why he did it. He said it's because that's what he's like. Then he told me about wolves."

She glanced at Belle to make sure she has caught her attention.

"He said it's because wolves are loyal and they mate for life. Wolves live within a pack. The alpha male protects his pack, as a man protects his family. He fights for them, looks after them. Do you know why there are lone wolves? Lone wolves are mostly outcasts. Or they're old and can't carry their own weight. They have chosen to leave the pack to preserve its social cohesion. Or sick or blind. Or young male adults starting their own pack, those ones are just as ferocious.

"You and Rajo are his pack, he'll be back for you. With wolves, it's never about the hunting ground. It's about the pack. He'd be more than willing to roam outside his realm as long as he has his pack with him. So don't worry about Cameron Country."

Billy stopped talking when Rajo came out dressed in his pajamas, "Good night, Auntie Billy."

"Good night."

"Good night, Belle."

Belle smiled and asked him to sit next to her. She made room for him in the rocking chair, and whispered, "We have to decide what you'll call me because I can't have my children call me by my first name."

Rajo looked at her, "Are you having a baby?"

"No, not yet but it will happen – in the future. So what do you say... you want to think about it?"

He nodded, "Yeah. Good night."

"Good night and sleep tight." They cuddled quickly, Rajo wriggled out of the rocking chair and said, "I love you."

Twilight finally arrived, "Let's get inside before the mosquitoes drain our blood," said Billy.

The two Cameron women headed back into the house arm in arm. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed," said Billy.

"Go ahead, I'll just check my emails."

She checked her G-mail and there was one from Winnie. She opened it, read the friendly message but one paragraph caught her attention. "My man left in haste three days ago... geez, I hate it. All the secrecy and all that need-to-know. I miss him terribly."

Belle thought, ___What are the odds?_

She emailed back saying pretty much the same thing. Winnie read her reply and thought, ___Could they be? Is it possible? I hope so._

Around that time, Spike was being driven into Central Square in the medina in Tangier. Youssef ushered him into the labyrinthine alleyways of the square. It was crowded with people wearing traditional clothes. He stood out in his T shirt, denim jeans and running shoes.

The Wolf was on his tail dressed in a djellaba. The blinking green light on the iPhone stayed still, suggesting his partner in crime was now stationary. Bryce looked around but it was impossible to tell from stack of houses, piled one on top of the other like a jigsaw puzzle, where Spike was exactly. And he couldn't stick around like a sore thumb, he had to find cover.

Looking around, he saw a young boy of Rajo's age. He smiled, mistaking him for a native, the boy started yapping in Arabic. He shook his head. The boy tried French, he shook his head. "English?" Bryce nodded.

The boy with friendly dancing eyes smiled, closed the gap between them and whispered conspiratorially, "Can I help you?"

The Wolf laughed. "Yes, you can. What's your name?"

"Ahmed."

He showed a photo of Spike from his iPhone, "Ahmed. Have you seen this man?" Ahmed dramatically shook his head from side to side

"I'll give you US$20.00 if you can find him." The boy nodded excitedly.

"Where can I wait?"

The boy motioned for him to follow, he led the ex-SAS man inside a tent – a shop selling spices, and introduced Bryce to his father, the shop keeper. They greeted each other with "Salaam alaykum." Then the Aussie was served mint tea, a sign of warm hospitality.

Sipping his tea silently, he steeled himself with confidence that Spike was just fine. ___He has cunning and intelligence._

The cup of tea was covering his face when a familiar person came into view. The man, he was sure, was an assassin. He lifted the hood of his djellaba, sat further back into the shadows and waited for the threat to pass. Hairs on his neck stood.

******It didn't look good.**


	7. Running from the Claws of Death

**Running from the Claws of Death**

The word "medina" simply means "city" or "town" in modern day Arabic. Like all medina quarters in any North African cities, the one in Tangier was walled and had narrow, maze-like streets. Due to this, medinas are free from cars, motorcycles and bicycle traffic, but it's not unusual to find a man and his over-laden mule negotiating its streets and its steps.

Spike found himself in an airless, dark house in the company of Youssef. "Please sit down," his host invited, "I'll get us something to eat." Alone in the front room, the Geek fired up his iPhone and sent a two-word message to START, '_Contact made.'_

He deleted the message and wondered how in the world he was going to verify something stored in a thumb drive when he hadn't yet come across an available network connectivity. His thought process was interrupted when he heard shuffling noises near the door, he hastily looked for Youssef, whispered, "There's someone outside."

The Algerian stiffened, "No one knows I'm here." Spike's blood froze in his veins. _This isn't good._

But then a child's voice came through the door, calling out a name and banging persistently on the brass knuckle. "It's just a kid." But still Youssef wouldn't answer the door. Putting a finger on his lips, he encouraged his visitor to do the same but the knocking was persistent. The Geek mouthed silently to the Algerian, "If you don't open the door, he's bound to attract more attention."

But it was no use, the Algerian was solidly fixed on the floor, petrified. Spike took it upon himself to open the door, just a tiny bit, to stop the kid breaking the door down. That was enough. The boy with the friendly face dashed down the steps and disappeared from view leaving him to wonder what it was all about. The enterprising kid went door to door within a 50 metre radius of where he met the Australian.

Running at full tilt, jumping two steps at a time, Ahmed reached Bryce less than a minute after finding the Canadian. He rushed back to his father's shop, his face red with exertion, and screeched to a halt at Bryce's knees. The Wolf caught him before he propelled himself further forward, "Whoa, easy young man."

Grinning from ear to ear, he said, "I see." The father watched them nervously. Bryce rubbed Ahmed's head, "Well done." He stood up and smiled warmly at the man, "Shukran. Thank you for your hospitality. Your son found a place for me to stay in the medina." The boy nodded and confirmed what Bryce said to his father in Arabic. He didn't understand the conversation but he interpreted correctly that the father would prefer it if he disappeared and quickly.

He respectfully bade his good-bye in Arabic, "Beslama" and followed Ahmed up the steps to the facade of the house. His head covered, he looked Arab enough, but he couldn't risk involving the child in any manner of espionage or clandestine operation. Ahmed pointed out the house casually, Bryce nodded lazily as if it was of no importance. He held the kid's hand and they kept walking. "Where are we going?" the kid asked.

"Just round the corner... then I want you to go home. Don't hang around, you understand."

The boy looked up to him, "I understand."

"Good." Bryce looked around for anyone suspicious then he crouched low and gave Ahmed two US$50 bills. "Don't stop till you get home. Now run."

He watched the boy take off before he turned left into another alleyway in case he was being followed. It was easy to get lost in the maze-like streets so Bryce took a left on every first alley he came across. When he was satisfied he hadn't picked up a tail he turned back. All he had to do now was turn right on every first alley, and he'd be right back where he started.

Bryce walked with his head down, but from his peripheral vision he recognised the assassin watching the same house. _Fuck_. The Aussie knew it was just a matter of minutes before it got noisy. He walked passed the house again, entered the third one down instead.

The home owners were surprised by his audacity and disrespect and loudly chastised him for entering uninvited. He ignored them, went straight to what was the kitchen, climbed out the window and into the balcony of the next house. The owners were not home, he opened the window of what was the bathroom then he climbed out. Houses in the medina were so close together one could jump from one house to the next without too much of an effort.

Propelling himself from the bathroom window of the next-door neighbour, Bryce bashed out the window shutter of the house where Spike was staying. The current occupants scrambled to their feet. The Algerian made for a concealed weapon tucked inside his trousers, the Canadian quickly grabbed his hand, looked him in the eyes and said, "Friend, friend."

Stepping on splintered wood, Bryce reached across, hauled Spike by the cuff of his collar and said, "We gotta go! There's an assassin outside."

"Assassin?" repeated Youssef in terror. "They're here to kill me."

Bryce manhandled Spike, "No time to waste, let's go." The Geek protested, "What about him?"

"You're my problem, not him."

"No, no," begged Youssef, "I risked my life to do this. You have to take me."

They heard footsteps. There was no time for debate; as far as Bryce was concerned, he only had to look after Spike. He grabbed him by the collar and hauled him out the window. Reacting quickly, the Geek reached out and dragged Youssef with him. By now, he was convinced the Algerian was legit.

They just managed to disappear out the window onto the balcony of the house adjacent when the door was kicked in. The assassin, a gun for hire called TBR, '_The Black Rhino'_, was ex-Special Forces, Zimbabwe's SAS.

They made themselves small, their backs pressed against a white-washed wall, Bryce stopped to put his thinking cap on, they couldn't keep running. He had to find a hiding place till he could get their shit sorted. When suddenly, from nowhere, they heard "Psst..."

Bryce turned to the left. It was Ahmed. "What are you doing here? I told you to go home."

"I'm home," he said. He pulled at Bryce. As they turned the corner, there was a courtyard. Hiding behind overgrown untended vines, Bryce pulled Ahmed to him, picked him up with one arm and with another covered his mouth. "Sssh..." They waited until the shadow of the beast passed.

Winnie was increasingly upset and worried. She hadn't heard from her husband. Surely, it can't be that hard to send a message. A clandestine operation was one thing, but to be totally incommunicado was another thing altogether.

Her cellphone rang, she quickly grabbed for it. She was disappointed. The screen said, 'Boss'. As fas as she was concerned, there was only one. "Hey, boss," she said trying her best to sound normal.

Parker didn't keep her in suspense, "I've heard from him, just so you know."

"Oh, that's nice," she said, relief obvious in her voice. But that was all he felt necessary to tell her and she knew better than to ask questions. So as usual, they talked about the dogs. Thankfully, before ending the call Parker felt it his duty to assure her and cryptically said, "It won't be long now."

"Thank you," she said.

Bryce put the boy down. Ahmed sensing danger, whispered, "Come." They followed him inside a small house. Spike thought his living room was bigger, but the spartan house was neat and tidy, he asked, "Who lives here with you?"

Ahmed looked at Spike and said, "Me and my father only." The answer implied that he has lost his mother. Sadness filmed the child's eyes, he patted his head and said, "I'm sorry."

Bryce was concerned, "We can't stay here Ahmed, it's dangerous for you."

"It will be dark soon" said Ahmed. "You can leave when it's dark."

"He'll be looking for three men..." whispered Bryce to himself. He looked at Spike, then at Youssef, _but he's not looking for a man and his two wives._The Geek read the Wolf's mind and said, "You've got to be kidding me."

"Do you want to get out of here?"

The Geek dropped his shoulders and said, "Of course."

Bryce asked Ahmed if there were any women's clothing in the house, the boy grinned. He went to a intricately carved chest box and retrieved a beautifully embroidered gandora. It was so grand that Bryce wouldn't have it.

He wanted to search in the box himself, "Do you mind?" he asked Ahmed. The boy shook his head to indicate 'no'. Bryce selected two plain looking gandoras and pashima shawls for head covering. Unfortunately, without even putting the gandoras on he knew the garment was way too short; indecent by Moroccan standard and probably a stoning offence. Bryce returned the items neatly.

There was no choice but to run the gauntlet. He gave Spike the djellaba and the slippers he purchased for him, "Put these on."

The Geek did so without delay, "This reminds me of Obi Wan Kenobi," he said as he posed with arms across his chest. Bryce and the Algerian sniggered despite the tension.

Noises outside the window caught their attention. Walking past was a wizened old man and his mule. Bryce quickly got to his feet, "Ahmed, can you ask the man to come in?"

The boy nodded, Bryce asked his companions to hide in the courtyard. They crouched low behind a cracked disused fountain as the old man came into the house. With Ahmed interpreting, Bryce asked if he could buy his animal. The old man thought about it. He gave his answer which the child interpreted, "He said he can't sell you the mule but you can rent it."

It was getting dark. With luck, the assassin wouldn't give four men and a mule a second glance. "Deal, we're good."

As they were leaving, Bryce worried about Ahmed. He asked Spike to wait, "Just a sec." He went back inside the house, lifted the edge of a wall décor, a carpet of substantial size and wrote in pen his contact number, "Ahmed, if you ever need help... call that number. It doesn't matter where I am I will come for you."

"What's your name?"

Bryce smiled, "That I can't give you but you have my word... call me and I'll come for you."

The assassin was on the roof top. Stalking. Surveying the surrounding environment with night vision goggles. He was a very patient man. There were still many people walking about despite the growing darkness. His interest was piqued by four men and a donkey, walking slowly uphill.

_I have to get closer._ TBR stealthily navigated the stone roof tops... closer and closer.

A sense of danger gripped Bryce and Spike, they glanced at each other furtively when suddenly a percussive sound of gunfire jolted them. By the time Bryce pulled Spike off the ground he was already covered in blood.

It's gone tits up!


	8. They're Not DeadYet

**They're Not Dead ... Yet**

_Holy crap, he's good!_

It doesn't matter how Hollywood portrays a sharp shooter, hitting a moving target, no matter how slow going, in the dark with just a hand gun even at just 50 metres, at an angle was never, ever easy.

Bryce took an iron-clad hold on his emotions, and asked, "Spike?" He gave a small sigh of relief when the Geek responded, "I'm ok. Youssef?" They both turned to the Algerian who was moaning in pain. In a split second, the Wolf got off his partner, "Be ready to leg it. Take him with you, I'm goin after him." They couldn't afford to hesitate, even the old man and his mule had found sprinting power.

Wolf sprang up on his feet, jumped to get a grip on the flat stone roof. Biceps bulging, he pulled himself up. He landed squarely on his hands and feet, he looked around til he glimpsed the retreating silhouette of TBR. Not the first time they had each other's profile in their mental sniper rifles' crosshairs.

_The Rhino vs. the Wolf._

He unholstered the Glock 17 strapped to his ankle. Bryce, a parkour practitioner, leapt from one roof to the next in an effort to catch the assassin but the Rhino was no easy prey.

Spike, with a massive dose of adrenaline coursing through his system lifted the Algerian, hoisted him on to his shoulder in a fireman's lift and legged it. With the weight of a full grown man on his shoulder, he chose to run downhill. To the uninitiated, like Spike, the medina was near impossible to get out of. But right now, lost was good. The main thing was not to be static and make themselves a target.

Meeting up again with Wolf was a worry for another day. Right now, his immediate concern was keeping the Algerian alive. "Buddy, don't die on me."

Youssef moaned. "Must tell you... must tell you..." he kept repeating.

_Whatever secrets you're hiding_, Spike thought grimly, _you gotta keep to yourself til I can get us out of this shithole_. Then he thought of Winnie, _She's going to kill me._

Legs pumping, blood dripping all over him, anguished cries bombarding his eardrums, Spike tuned out. _Survive. Fuck I gotta survive this_. He swerved left into an alley, turned right, then left, then right again. He was lost. But he was hoping that by going downhill, they would eventually get to the exit. But after nearly half an hour of pedal power, he was desperate for respite. _Where the hell is the end of this walled city? Does it ever end?_

Bryce's eyes strained to keep track of the Rhino's zigzagging figure. There were masses of people on the roof top; women hanging laundry, gossiping; children playing and eating; old men gossiping, smoking, or just idly watching. Everything happened on the roof top and now two ex-Special Forces men had joined in the fun.

The Aussie kept sprinting. _Getting closer._ As he leapt over barriers, he thought, _as long as he stays on the roof,_but the Rhino was thinking exactly the same thing. The Zimbabwean jumped down. _Fuck._It would be next to impossible to locate the Rhino down there. _No time to lose_, the Aussie jumped down too.

Spike had to push past people meandering on the road like it was freaking Hyde Park; not to mention squeezing between mules on a street that in some places was less than a metre wide. His lungs were on fire. His arms strained with the weight of the Algerian. His legs gradually started to lose power. But then by some miracle they were on Central Square, the Grand Socco. He stopped, rested his back against the wall to catch his breath. There were many curious people about as he put the Algerian down. Practically hugging the wall, trying to ignore furtive glances cast their way, they walked a little further down to an isolated corner. He laid the Algerian down against the wall, removed his blood stained djellaba, thanking Almighty God that the maroon fabric was already the colour of blood; he covered the wounded man with it.

"I have to check your wound."

Youssef was in no position to argue, he was losing a lot of blood. Spike ripped the clothes off him. The Algerian was hit in the upper back. A little higher and a bit more to the left, it would have hit him in the base of the skull and it would have been game over. _That was one fucking good aim._

"Not a through and through… the bullet's in you." Youssef didn't know how lucky he was to be alive and to be with Spike, who was also Team Medic for SRU. "I gotta leave the bullet alone. The most important thing is to stem the blood loss."

He leaned over the man, "Be right back. Keep quiet, I'll get you out. Promise."

He checked his time-piece, 18:30 hour. Apart from a cup of tea at mid-day, he hadn't had anything to eat or drink. His stomach grumbled, street food vendors abounded but he couldn't risk it. He found a vendor selling bottled water, he bought six. The old man asked, "Touristique?"

"Oui." He said smiling. The old man was won over by the smile.

Walking back to the Algerian he found a stall selling fabrics, he bought several dark ones and a couple of dark coloured djellabas. He was sure they were overpriced at US$100 but he didn't care. _Every once in a while, someone has to have a windfall._ It was a bad decision. He should have haggled because now vendors were all over him. He put his arms out, fearing he would attract unwanted attention. Soon, people were fighting over him. He quickly withdrew as the disagreement between vendors escalated into a melee.

It was getting darker by the minute. Bryce kept his motor going. All of a sudden, he felt a wallop to his side. A woman passing him on his left became collateral damage. She screamed as she was thrown back against a wall with him on top of her. She fought to be able to get up, pushing him off and scampered away crying; other pedestrians hurried away from the combatants.

The boot landed squarely on his kidney. Then the enormous Zimbabwean landed an elbow on the base of Bryce's skull, sending a massive signal of pain throughout his body. He dropped his firearm and it bounced several inches away from him.

It was two in the morning at Gregory Downs, on his fourth night away from home, Belle woke up drenched in sweat. The dream was so real. She closed her eyes and clutched her marriage sarong and prayed desperately.

The Rhino had the Wolf in a headlock. In a matter of seconds, Bryce would be dead if he didn't get the Rhino off. The SAS was trained in blood choke, also called carotid restraint or sleeper hold, a form of a strangulation that compresses one or both carotid arteries and/or the jugular veins without compressing the airway. This causes cerebral ischemia and a temporary hypoxic condition in the brain. Blood choke can lead to unconsciousness in a matter of seconds. And the bad news, properly applied blood chokes require little physical strength.

Spike returned to the Algerian. To his immense relief, Youssef was still conscious. _Something big is willing him on, keeping him alive_, he thought. He uncapped a water bottle, "Drink. You need to be hydrated."

Ripping strips of the clean fabrics, he worked methodically, the Geek talked him through the procedure he was performing. "I'm going to apply direct pressure to the wound." He uncapped another water bottle, poured it on the fabric to moisten it covered the serious open wounds with it, then wrapped strips of cloth around Youssef's shoulders and looped this across his chest.

He threw the blood soaked djellaba in to a pile of rotting cast off vegetables. He put on a fresh one and dressed Youssef with another. It was only then that he took a mouthful of the most refreshing drink he'd ever had in his entire life.

Belle moaned in her sleep, "Bryce, please come home. Please." The marriage sarong was soaked in tears.

Using every ounce of strength he had left, the Wolf picked up a sharp-edged stone. With all his might he stabbed it deep into the Rhino's thigh, narrowly missing the femoral artery. TBR yelped, loosened the hold. They locked eyes. Then the Rhino slinked back into the darkness, pressing on the wound as he hobbled away. _There' still tomorrow. Another day you are mine._

Bryce's head throbbed like hell from lack of blood and oxygen. He greedily gulped oxygen into his lungs and waited until he regained some strength before he crawled to his Glock, reholstered it, and thought of his wife. "Belle, I'm coming home."

She heard knocking, a crying voice filtered through the closed door, "Belle." She leaped off the hammock, opened the door to find Rajo standing there in his wet pajama. "I dreamed of Daddy," he sobbed.

She hugged the boy, then soothingly said, "It's ok, he'll be home soon. Come on, let's change you."

Bryce turned on his iPhone, hoping to find Spike. The green light was static. "Stay put, mate."

It would be another couple of hours, navigating through the maze, hitting dead-ends, before they were reunited. Spike gave the Wolf a bottle of water, smiled and said, "Fuck me, can it get any worse?"

Winnie suddenly had a passing thought, a psychic thought. _Can it get any worse?_ She murmured to herself, not understanding what made her say it. She felt the chills. Wrapping a shawl around her neck, and piling on a sweater, she walked out of the Forensic Lab to get some fresh air. The October chill hit her hard. She gathered her sweater around her but the cold wouldn't go away.


	9. Can it Get Any Worse?

**Can it Get any Worse?**

_Can it get any worse?_

Bryce thirstily imbibed the water till there was none, not even a drop left. He contemplatively looked at the empty bottle as if it could produce an answer to their predicament_._ Now that Spike had met the contact, he was determined to get them home or die trying. His sole assignment, if only it was that simple, was to get them in and out of Tangier. It's the Geek's call whether to take the asylum-seeker home with him or not. But considering what just happened, a move to Canada appears to be a done deal.

He mulled their situation. It's an inescapable fact that with an injured man along for the return journey, leaking blood at that, swimming back to Tarifa was out of the question. Risk it and they'd all be shark bait.

Survival 101: find food and a place to rest. He leaned his head on his knees; trying, but not succeeding, to clear his head so he could think of a way out. His desperation was palpable, but it wasn't because of where they were in; he'd been held up in worst places and for a lot longer. It was more to do with wanting to be somewhere else.

Still short of an idea, he checked with his companion regarding Youssef's condition, "How's he?" he inquired tiredly.

Spike checked the Algerian's vitals, "Weak...he needs medical care. Bullet maybe lodged in the bone." The Aussie grimaced. It's the sort of hellish pain you didn't wish even on your worst enemy.

Belle stayed with Rajo until sleep claimed him. She didn't bother to return to bed; instead she made herself comfortable on a bean bag next to Rajo's little hammock. From where she was reclined, she watched the sun slowly force its way out of the Eastern sky. It's now daybreak and she hasn't slept a wink. She looked at the wall clock to confirm the time, 06:30. She wondered what Bryce was up to wherever he might be. If he was home, he'd be out feeding the chickens but, God bless him, Raf has been doing it instead.

She noticed a little red toy train under Rajo's study table. She crawled to pick it up, it was well used and it had a wheel missing. Running the wheels of the train on her hand, she started singing... _the wheels on the train go round and round, round and round..._

An idea germinated in Bryce's brain, he checked his watch, 20:35. They would be cutting it fine but it was still possible. It was their best hope for food and rest until he could figure a way out of Morocco. "Come on... let's go."

"Where to?"

"The train station. Tanger Ville."

The Algerian was delirious, writhing in pain, moaning and groaning, bathed in sweat. Youssef could definitely get them in very deep, hot water. They looked at each other but resigned themselves to the fact that they were now stuck with him through thick and thin.

They walked to the main thoroughfare with Youssef sandwiched between them. They spotted a cab parked on the curb side waiting for passengers. Bryce instructed Spike and Youssef to stay back in the shadows. He walked over to check it out, leaned in the window. Lo and behold it was the same driver with two missing front teeth. Upon seeing him, the old man instantly paled, and said in a state of panic coupled with hand gesticulation, "No, no, no."

Bryce thought the old man comical, and he laughed despite his utter exhaustion. He got into the front passenger seat before motioning for the other two to follow. Spike assisted Youssef into the back seat before getting in.

Feeling relieved, he raised a playful eyebrow at the taxi driver, and said, "La gare Tanger Ville." The driver visibly relaxed, engaged the engine and drove his three unusual passengers to the train station just inland from the far end of the sea front. It was a short trip but Bryce decided to pay the driver US$100.00. He smiled gratefully and said, "Go home. It's late," pointing to his watch. The old man had no idea what Bryce said but thanked him for the gratuity, and rewarded them with a toothless disarming smile.

They got out of the cab and waved the driver off. They agreed that they should enter the station concourse separately. Bryce entered first while the other two waited outside for a couple of minutes before wandering in. Instinctively, both men looked for tell-tale signs of cameras, there didn't appear to be any. After a cursory inspection, they thought that if there were any, they were definitely well concealed.

Morocco's new train station is housed in a three-level modern building, it boosts of gleaming marble floor and numerous ticketing windows. Bryce approached one, asked for four tickets for a sleeping-berth (4-berth couchettes) for the Tangier-Marrakech overnight train departing in less than an hour.

He wasn't exactly surprised when told there was none available, he didn't really rate his chances as there was only one couchette car attached to every Moroccan train. He would simply have to keep trying until seats could be obtained. He asked for four first class tickets but the disinterested seller shook her head, "No."

"Second class?"

She finally nodded. _Yes_, Bryce breathed a sigh of relief, feeling triumphant. In Morocco, seat reservation isn't possible on second class. Passengers just buy a ticket and hop on. As luck would have it, the carriage wasn't full. Armed with the tickets, Bryce motioned for the others to meet him on the platform. They didn't have long to wait. In less than 20 minutes, they boarded the train and sat separately.

With the time difference, Winnie was still at work although way past time. "Hey, what are you still doing here? It's nearly six." She glanced up from her piles of paper work. Her boss, Forensic specialist Imogen Suzuki was standing at the door of her lab.

"Just finishing some reports," she said in what she hoped sounded convincing. Truthfully, she couldn't bear to go home to her parents' house; it was getting harder and harder to fob off their concern. Far easier to bury her head in work.

"Don't stay too long. We don't want that cute husband of yours issuing a 'BOLO' on you," her French-Canadian boss jokingly said. Win waved a hand and stuck her tongue out.

Alone with her thoughts, she wondered what Spike might be doing. She looked at the time, 16:50. _I miss you so much._

Spike checked his iPhone, 20:50. He calculate the time difference and thought, _She's probably home playing with Moppet and Serenity. _Having just survived a hair raising experience, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, his longing for her was magnified. _Never again_, he promised to himself.

At precisely 21:35, the overnight train pulled out of the station. Bryce waited patiently until most of the passengers had settled in their seats. Then he made his move, he removed his djellaba and improvised tote bag, casually handed them to his partner, "Mate, watch these for me?"

"Sure, no problem."

The Aussie casually walked over to the sleeping berth called couchette. With 11 separate 4-berth compartments, he was hoping he could convince a quad to give up theirs for a reasonable price. He knocked on the first compartment; a middle aged Caucasian woman opened the door. He glimpsed a child sleeping on the lower bunk, he said apologetically, "Sorry, wrong compartment." The woman frowned and said, "Good thing you didn't wake up my baby." He apologised again.

He tried the next one; another family, "Sorry, wrong compartment."

After the fifth try, he was starting to feel deflated. It didn't look promising until he stood outside compartment six. The voices were loud, all male. He smiled. He'd recognise that accent anywhere: _strine_, colloquial for Australian accent.

He knocked. An Aussie lad in his 20s opened the door and said, "What's up, mate?"

"Hey, one of my mate's sick, I was wondering if you guys would swap with us. We're in 2nd class. I'd pay you guys 75 for each ticket."

A voice inside inquired, "Dollars?"

Another said, "Idiot, what do you think?"

Defensively, the other guy said, "Well, he might have meant 75 Mexican pesos."

"U.S. Dollars," he said.

The boys argued among themselves, but Bryce was having none of it, "Look guys, you have a minute to decide or I'm knocking next door."

The guy who opened the door said, "Make it US$100 per." He knew the overnight train ticket only cost US$50.00 each, _but what price sleep?_

"Done." He gave them four 2nd class tickets and US$400 in exchange for four couchette class tickets. "Great doing business with you."

The Wolf went to get his companions but the Geek was nowhere in sight. His djellaba was draped on the back of the seat. _What the hell happened?_ He was about to flap big-time when he saw him coming back towards his seat. His brow furrowed questioningly. Spike's eyeballs moved to the left. He looked over in the direction of the Geek's left shoulder, four members of the Moroccan gendarme has boarded their train and were sitting in close proximity to them. _Bugger._

Bryce scanned the car for Youssef, he was seated adjacent to the gendarme. _Ah shit_. He had to create a distraction so Spike could move the injured Algerian. _Improvise, you mug_. He gathered his djellaba and said, "Thanks for minding it, mate." As they shook hands, he handed over their new ticket.

The Geek replied, "You're welcome," and nodded to indicate he got his drift.

Bryce passed along Spike's left side. With dramatic flair, he tripped on himself and landed on the lap of the gendarme, "Sorry, mate, sorry." The policemen made a great show of being annoyed at the clumsy tourist. Spike quickly went to aid Youssef off his seat. They were moving up the aisle just as the four young Aussies were hauling their backpacks to 2nd class. The policemen's attention shifted to the young lads, Bryce took advantage and quickly made himself scarce.

Once they were in their enclosed compartment, they laid Youssef on the lower bunk. He didn't look well, by Bryce's reckoning, the Algerian didn't look likely to last the night. They heard rattling outside, they simultaneously thought, _it's the food cart_. Bryce opened it in time to see a man pushing a trolley of food, just what they needed.

"You have any money on you?" he asked his travelling companion. "I'm out."

The Geek gave him a bundle, "Keep it."

Bryce bought a trolley-full of drinks, snacks, sandwiches and sweet coffee. Spike was gobsmacked, "What the hell?"

"I don't know about you, mate but I'm hungry. Besides it only costs $30.00. And yeah, I didn't tell you, it's roughly 11 hour trip to Marrakech."

"Eleven hours?"

"Yeah, cause we need to eat and sleep. And I need to think."

Bryce gobbled a sandwich, "We'll take it in turns to sleep. Two-hourly. Go ahead, get some kip." Although famished, Spike was more tired and sleepy and couldn't be bothered to eat; he climbed to the top bunk and fell asleep in an instant.

The copious amount of sweet coffee he drank provided Bryce with enough kick to stay awake for a couple of hours. Caffeine and Youssef actually. He hovered over the Algerian like an angel of mercy, helping him to water. Youssef was feverish although the train coach was air-conditioned. In his delirium, Youssef kept mumbling, "I must tell you ... I must tell you..." Bryce looked on concernedly, _whatever secret you're carrying could get us all killed._

Meanwhile, back at Tangier, the old man didn't go home as Bryce suggested, he needed money for his son's medical expenses. Bryce had been his first passenger at mid-day and should have been the last at 20:35. He already made more than he usually makes in a week. But he decided to keep going until mid-night before calling it a night. He picked up another passenger not far from Grand Socco. A handsome black man with a limp. His right thigh was wrapped in a bandage, _Harmless enough_, he thought.

And mercy of all mercy, he spoke in fluent Arabic.

The old man happily chatted to the Black Rhino, told him how it's been a magnificent day, how he had been blessed with a generous passenger. The Zimbabwean nodded without really listening until the old man said, "He's a very strange man, sounded real funny."

The Black Rhino's curiosity was instantly aroused, "Funny how?"

The old man shrugged, "Just unusual, when I picked him up again tonight... he has two friends with him. I took them to the train station."

"The friend, one of them Algerian?"

"Don't know, he never said a word. But he looked sick."

That could only be them, he thought. "Change of plan," said the Black Rhino, "Take me to the train station."

The taxi driver made the mistake of asking why. The Black Rhino replied with a sense of menace, "I'm paying you to drive."

As soon as they reach the station, TBR coldly, mercilessly slashed the old man's throat, "No loose ends," he said. Not contented with taking his life, he also took the driver's earnings.

_One thing you've failed to learn, Wolf. No loose ends._

The Station was deserted but the information board was there for all to see. The last overnight train was going to Marrakech, stopping at Meknes, Fes, Rabat, Casablanca along the way. The ex-Zimbabwe SAS pressed '1' on his phone and mobilised five kill teams: One for every stop.

He grinned devilishly_, Game over_.


	10. By the Skin of their Teeth

**By the Skin of their Teeth**

The train pulled into Meknes station at 24:00. Bryce tapped the metal frame of the upper bunk. "Mate, your turn." Spike was awake instantly and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He rolled out of bed, sat up on the thin mattress, and dangled his legs on the metal ladder. He waited til Spike was fully awake before turning into his bunk, the lower bunk to the left of Youssef.

"Mate, I suggest you tape his confession. He doesn't have long." They looked down on Youssef who was barely conscious; he was only speaking in his mother tongue. They knew at this stage, as he clutched at the last shred of life that the Algerian could only speak the truth. The creative side of the brain has shut down by now, falsities and legends gone, if there were any; only truth remained.

"He paid the ultimate price, you gotta make it mean something." The Geek nodded. He waited for Bryce to turn in. The tall Aussie stretched his long frame, and used the djellaba to cover his face. Remembering something, he uncovered his face again, "Ah, Spike... when it's time to rouse me, just tap my boot. Shaking my shoulder would be an accident waiting to happen."

"No problem." _Must be a soldier thing_, he thought, remembering how a certain former JTF-2 Commando has the same issue.

He sat on the edge of Youssef's bed, glad that Bryce has left him something to eat. He couldn't help smiling over a heap of food wrappers neatly piled in a corner. He drank a couple of bottle of water to satisfy his thirst before attending to the Algerian, supporting the man's head so he could get some liquid in.

As the train stopped at Meknes, a few passengers disembarked and a team of four Algerian hard men boarded the train. Two got into 2nd class car, the other two entered 1st class. They didn't think it was possible for Aussie and Co. to have acquired tickets for couchette class at such a late booking so they left two men on the platform in case their quarries gave them the slip.

After searching the cars twice over, the team leader called TBR, "We've not seen them in 1st or 2nd class. There are gendarme on the train. What do you want us to do?" The presence of the police was a definite game changer. TBR preferred to keep it clean; to leave a trail of destruction would be bad, downright stupid. It has to be surgical, clean, and precise.

"Patience is the key, bide your time. It's a long way to Marrakech. When the gendarme disembarks, do a proper search. Are you sure they haven't given you the slip?"

"No, we left two men on the platform."

"Good. Six more will join you in Fes. Leave the Australian to me, execute the others."

Youssef sensed death was imminent. He reached for Spike with his last remaining ounce of strength, grabbing the Canadian's clothes. Speaking in Arabic, in a voice hoarse and guttural, he sounded full of urgency and emotional conviction. Spike crouched over him and set his iPhone to record the moment.

Finally a chance to tell his secret. It appeared to infuse Youssef with renewed energy and purpose. He spoke into the iPhone's recorder for nearly two hours, stopping only to sip a bit of water. At times struggling for breathe, Spike tried to get him to stop, but the Algerian was determined. Nearing the end of his narrative, Youssef's head rolled to his chin, he thought the Algerian might have expired. He pressed two fingers against the carotid pulse on the neck, one side at a time. _Still alive, but barely hanging in there._ Spike convinced himself that the Algerian might cheat death. He held Youssef's hand, assuring him he wasn't alone, offering little comfort.

A pre-arrival announcement was made over the train's tannoy system. He heard "Fes" mentioned; he checked the time, 02:00. Two hours had passed. He tapped Wolf's boot. Two bluey-green eyes stared in the semi darkness.

Wolf sat up in bed careful not to bump his head against the upper bunk. Sensing movements, the Algerian uttered something unintelligible. They huddled close to him, encouraging him. With his life ebbing away from him, he clenched the men's hand in his, his last word to them was a blessing, "As-salaam 'Alaykum." _Peace be unto you_.

Bryce responded with "Wa alaikumu el salaamu." _May peace be with you also_.

With those words of peace, Youssef closed his eyes for all eternity. Spike checked for a pulse, there was none. Bryce covered him with a blanket.

"Did he tell you anything?"

The Geek nodded, "It's all here," waving the gadget.

"We're nearly in Fes. There's no point going all the way to Marrakech, we'll get a return ticket here then swim back to Tarifa. Let's get ready." They sanitised Youssef which basically meant when he is found there would be nothing to identify him.

They put their djellaba back on; both had started to smell rancid, it had been two days since they'd had a shower, brushed their teeth or even just a modicum of a wash. Spike made a face, "Geez, we smell bad, man." He thought at least Winnie wasn't with him to see and smell him at his worse. Bryce just smirked, "You have no idea mate." he said.

The lights from the station illuminated their couchette, as the train started to decrease its speed. The Aussie looked out the window, "We're pulling into the platform, get ready." As he didn't require an improvised tote anymore he wore the fabric as a turban, changing his appearance completely.

"How'd you know how to make a turban?"

"I lived in Morocco for six months… in Rabat. To be honest, we can't go there. I'd be a dead man," he said smirking.

Six men were on the alert at Fes train station platform. The team leader reminded his troop, "We're looking for three men. One of them is injured so you can't possibly fucking miss them. They're not in 1st and 2nd class so we're going to check the couchette cars this time."

"You two," pointing to the most inexperienced members of his team, "man the platform."

The train finally pulled into a stop, the policemen got off the 2nd class carriage. Four Algerian thugs split up, two entered the front door, the other two the rear. The original four who boarded at Meknes joined the two on the platform and formed a line along its length, eyes roaming back and forth; a very obvious cordon.

They left their compartment and headed straight for the rear exit. The Wolf was immediately on the alert. His situational alertness kicked in big-time. There was something about the two men who just got on, especially when they started to rattle the door of the compartments, disturbing the peace in the process. They heard the same noise from the other end. Spike also had a sense of danger. Discreetly, the Geek tugged at Wolf's robe, he tugged back. _COPY_.

The conga line of six men standing at attention on the platform, scanning the crowd was a dead giveaway. Spike felt like bolting in the other direction but Bryce nudged him forward, whispered, "Act normally." He let Spike walk ahead of him, he lagged about two feet behind, and deliberately walked a little closer to a young boy and his older brother, making it appear he was with them.

They just made it out of the Station when there was a sudden commotion. One of the men had found Youssef's lifeless body and shouted a warning. Six men on the platform gave chase to any two men walking side by side. Spike maintained his pace, breathing out of his mouth. He had gained a metre.

He lowered his heart rate though inside he was flapping. **Two** metres.

This was far beyond his capabilities, with computers he had an excellent grasp of what he was dealing with but these were African goons_. He kept walking_, maintaining his initial pace.** Three** metres.

He debated with himself whether to turn around to check for Bryce, becoming separated now would be his death sentence, he was sure of it. **Four** metres.

Suddenly a breeze passed him, it was Bryce's djellaba flapping in the wind as his walked briskly. The Aussie was now going to take point. Spike maintained a two-foot distance but kept his eyes on Bryce who has crossed the street. It took all his self-discipline not to follow suit. Hairs on his neck stood as he sensed two men running after him, he knew if they accosted him there was no way he'd be able to act his way out of trouble.

Bryce disappeared from view. Spike crossed the road, trying his hardest to be oblivious to activities behind him. One of the men angrily called out, he stopped just under the lamp post. He removed the hood of his djellaba and hoped he was sufficiently tanned to appear Berber. Under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

Bryce's back was against the wall on the building directly opposite, he murmured to himself, "Bloody don't open your mouth." In any case, he readied his Glock.

The two men faced Spike in a confrontational manner, his fast brain processor kicked in, "Posso aiutarla?" he said in fluent Italian. The men suddenly lost interest. They were looking for an Australian and an Algerian who as it turned out was already dead. They weren't sure about the nationality of the third guy. He could be Australian or American but surely he couldn't be Italian.

One of the men, asked, "Che ci fai qui?"

He replied, "Vacanza."

The team leader reported back to TBR, the Zimbabwean was ballistic with rage. _Idiots._ Nevertheless, he was convinced Aussie and his partner would return to Tangier now that the Algerian was dead. They'd be morons to cross the border into Algeria or Western Sahara when Gib is just a spit away across the pond. He ordered all 30 men to converge in Tangier.

The Wolf and the Geek mutually decided not to hang around but to keep moving. They had to get back to Tangier where their gear was stashed. The train was a no-go zone. A late model Mercedes Benz taxi slowed, looking for passengers. Bryce hailed it. Unlike petit taxis, the Grande do not have a taximeter so Bryce had to negotiate with the driver for a price to get them to Tangier. "Exclusive" he insisted for Grande taxi drivers are also allowed to pick up other passengers along the way, he wasn't going to have any of it.

The final offer was US$300, but the driver was still playing hard to get. Frustrated, Bryce flagged down another, the driver quickly said, "Ok, ok."

Wolf got in the front passenger seat. Before they started off, he drew a road map on a piece of scrap paper to show the driver the journey he wished to take, "Take the auto piste in the direction of Rabat, and then the auto piste to Tangier." The driver nodded happily.

Bryce turned to Spike, "The trip is about four to five hours, we'll take turns to sleep. You go first."

The whole trip by cab was uneventful, the first five hours of non-activity they had since arriving two days ago in Morocco. It was close to seven in the morning when they reached Tangier. Spike proposed they look for a place to lay low, rest, fuel up for the swim back to Tarifa.

"Good idea." Bryce asked the driver to take them to Place DE France, a small French-inspired square right in the middle of the Ville Nouvelle with many street cafés.

Lacking the energy to wander around, they chose to have breakfast at Terrasse des Paresseux just east of the Place for refuelling and for an amazing view of the sea. On entering the premises, Bryce's eyes fell on a newspaper hanging in a newspaper rack. He recognised the old man in the photo. He squinted in consternation. The cut, the bloodied throat, it reminded him of TBR's handiwork.

"Bryce?" It was Spike trying to get his attention.

He turned, the Geek had already settled his butt. _Not a good spot_, he thought but G liked the views. He would have preferred to sit with his back against the wall and a view of people coming and going. Unfortunately for them, they didn't get a chance to argue where to sit. The manageress of the café asked them to "please take their coffee somewhere else" while putting a finger across her nose. They had gotten used to their smell and appearance and thought nothing of it.

"Well, it seems we're not welcome!" Bryce thumped him on the shoulder, turned him around and said, "We're too good for them anyway."

About 0.3 metres from Terrasse des Paresseux they found a budget accommodation and paid for a night. In typical Spike fashion, he befriended the owner/manager who upon hearing their hard luck story offered to get room service up to them.

"Do you do laundry service?" asked Bryce.

Taking a close look at them, the owner/manager laughed, "No washing machine can clean those but yes, put them in a bag and I'll get them done for you."

Thirty men has met up with TBR in an obscure hide-out in the medina. They were given a tongue lashing to remember. After the briefing, they still had no idea who Spike was but everyone had a five-year old photo of the Wolf on their phone. He assigned them into quadrants. They were not to rest, eat, and sleep until the Wolf was found. It was personal.

After a warm shower and a hearty breakfast, they slept the sleep of the dead. Sometime during his deep sleep Spike was jolted awake. Alarmed. Someone was punching the wall of the Aussie's room. _What the hell?_ He put his ears on the wall, there seemed to be no one there but Bryce himself. His eyes fell on the alarm clock, 13:00. The hours flew. _I have to get in there._

_S_pike jumped out of bed, banged on Bryce's door. No answer. He took matters in his own hands and picked the lock. He opened the door wide, "Bryce! Hey, mate, wake up!"

The Wolf was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged, and his fists were bleeding from bashing the wall.

"Nightmare?" The Aussie nodded as he inspected the damage he has done to his knuckles.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Bryce splashed water on his face. "It's the Black Rhino. The guy who shot the Algerian was former Zimbabwe SAS. We worked together years ago, he used to be a good operative until he lost the plot. Alcohol and cocaine. Around five… may be six years ago, we were in on a R and R in Nicaragua. He took a woman to his room for sex. By the time he was done with her, she had four facial fractures, one of her fake breast had popped out of her chest cavity... he had so violently pulled on her breast. Anally raped her and tore her perineum. I found her on the hallway of the hotel, she had crawled out of the room."

By the time he finished telling the story, the Wolf was in tears.

"I called an ambulance. TBR was arrested. The Regiment asked me what I knew, what was I to say? The woman was hardly recognizable. I've seen all sorts of mess G... but nothing comes close to that. Weeks and months after that I used to dream of TBR raping my Mum or Billy; and just now… Belle."

Bryce cradled his head in his hands, "Spike, it's personal. Til one of us is buried six feet under, I'll forever look over my shoulder. I can only get rid of this nightmare... when it's done."

Deep inside, Bryce knew it had to end, sooner rather than later because if TBR even contemplated following his trail back to Gregory Downs his Mum, Billy or Belle would never be safe._ It ends here. Today._

He smiled tiredly. "How do you plan to send your gift?"

The Geek smiled back, "It's done." He had hacked into a password protected Wi-Fi and sent the audio file to a secure computer to START and CSIS.

"One word of advice, mate. Hide the thumb drive somewhere safe and get the coordinates to your people. We're not out of the woods yet, this way, whatever happens to us..."

"Good idea."

Meantime, TBR was prowling his self-assigned quadrant. The shores of Tangier. _He'll be here_, he mused. _You're dead, Bryce Cameron. _He thought back to being kicked out of the SAS, recounted the hell he endured in a Nicaraguan jail all for a bitch who was asking for it.

_You're mine and you're dead._


	11. Sierra on X-ray

**Sierra on X-Ray**

They worked out a battle plan. It was reasonable to assume that no one had connected them so they would keep it that way. "We'll rendezvous at Punta Cires at 19:00 hours. Find a hiding place for the thumb drive, someone can collect it later."

"What about you? What's your plan?" Bryce looked out the window, smiled and said, "Not much. Lay low and wait for RV."

Spike gave a hesitant nod, but he knew what Bryce was thinking. _I should back him up_. The Aussie read his mind, "Don't even think about it. Do what you have to do… I'll sort my shit out."

At 14:00 hour Spike went out for a meal, a proper one this time. He decided to try a restaurant where mainly locals eat. Feeling adventurous, he ordered the chef's recommendation, Moroccan chicken tajine with preserved lemon and olives served with couscous and harissa paste on the side. Harissa is a hot red pepper paste used in North African cooking. With the chef watching for a reaction, he had to have a go at the chilli paste. It was something! While he appreciated that it had a beautiful aromatic scent, his taste buds didn't. To ease the burning, he must have drank a gallon of water to the amusement of the locals.

An image of his wife, worrying and wondering where he was, invaded his thoughts.

He paid for his late lunch with the local currency, the dirham; and complimented the chef before hurrying out of the eatery. Walking around the French quarters, his mind drifted back to Toronto, he missed the familiar sights and sounds and the people that rock his world. He went in search of souvenirs to take home and then went to look for an internet café. It didn't take long to find one being a touristy locale.

What he was about to do was risky but at least he had the smarts not to get caught. He logged on to an inactive account, username: bbbabycakes. It was a dormant account, to be used only in an emergency. He attached an audio file to an email then hit send. It was 20:00 hour where she was. She had been at work since 08:00 in an effort to avoid her Mum and Dad. The tension was killing her, so she made a decision, _I'm moving back home tomorrow._

"Late night again?" teased one of the other Lab Rats. She had dark eye bags no amount of make-up could hide. Deflecting the observation, she pouted her pillow lips and said, "You guys are always picking on me."

"Your husband has been neglecting you. Tell Spike to come here and we'll give him a talking-to." Winnie smiled and thought, _yeah, if I knew where he was_.

She sat on her stool ready to start another ballistics test when she noticed something on her computer, 'You've got message,' it said. She smiled when she saw the sender's name, it could only be him. There was no subject line, no message and no signature; only an audio file attachment. She clicked it and had a giggle when a verse from Michael Bublé's "Home" played.

_Another aeroplane  
Another sunny place  
I'm lucky, I know  
But I wanna go home  
Mmmm, I've got to go home_

_Let me go home_  
_I'm just too far from where you are_  
_I wanna come home_

She jumped up, pumped her fists and shouted "Yes, yes, yes, yes." Her happiness was so outrageous the Lab Rats thought she had won lotto.

Before Spike logged out, he "killed" the account. That was the last time he was going to use it. As he stepped out of the internet café, he noticed a black man casually drinking coffee in a street café. There was something about the man that screamed SAS. It was the rough and tumble looks, and the shemagh wrapped around his neck. Special Forces had taken to wearing it on operations in the desert although that alone didn't suggest he was SF since the shemagh is a traditional Arab garb. BUT there was something definable in the way it was looped around his neck.

He took a seat next to the man, ordered a cappuccino and gave the man a friendly nod. "South African?" he asked.

The man didn't say a word, simply nodded and Spike thought, _Yeah, like I believe you_. He observed Mr Black was on a call every 10 to 12 minutes. He puts it next to his ear but doesn't say a word. He concluded a few people have been reporting to Mr SAS on an hourly rotation. He finished his coffee, checked his time, 15:00 hour. _Time to make a call_.

He found a pay phone not far from where TBR's butt was parked. He fed the old red phone coins and dialled Bryce's number.

"Wolf." The Australian answered curtly.

"I know where he is."

"I got eyes on X-ray." Surprised, Spike turned around yet saw no one resembling Bryce.

"Will you stop looking around," he said laughing. "Do your touristy thing."

"Ok... take care will you. I don't want to tow you across the Strait in a body bag."

"No chance of that, mate."

They disconnected the call, Spike scratched his head. He didn't see Bryce for the Wolf was perched on a rooftop, flat roofs abound in Tangier. Unbeknown to him, Bryce had phoned a friend after they went their separate ways, a member of Morocco's Special Forces GIGR.

It was a simple conversation, the sort that was 'no questions asked'. Bryce put forward a request, "Mate, I need a high powered bino."

"Not a problem, where do you want me to drop it off."

"French quarters, café district, I'll find you."

The meeting between friends was short and swift. Anybody watching would not have thought they knew each other. It was a bump and a quick handover. One day they'll catch up again. The Moroccan mate had a long standing invite to visit Queensland.

Wolf bought local Moroccan sandwiches and took them to the highest possible vantage point. There, he enjoyed traditional Moroccan meal washed down with Coke. He guessed rightly TBR would only have his meals in the French quarter, he wasn't disappointed. As he watched TBR from the scope of his bino, Bryce thought about it clinically. If he let him get away, he may not find him again. An idea crossed his mind.

It was one in the morning Down Under in Gregory Downs. Belle woke up with a start. She felt an unexplainable feeling of dread. Sleep has abandoned her completely. She padded out of the room to check on Rajo. Her beautiful African boy was fast asleep. She laid on the bean bag, recalling a conversation she had with him earlier in the day. "So, have you decided what you would like to call me?"

The boy nodded happily, "Yes, I'll call you Ma-Belle."

"I love that, thank you."

"If you have a baby, what will he call you?"

"Your baby brother or sister will call me, Ma-Belle, too. It can't be different."

The boy was delighted, "You have to admit, it's better than '_That Cameron woman_.'"

"No one calls me that," she said laughing.

"Oh, yeah... they will," he said nodding vigorously. "When we go to town, people say to Aunt Billy '_Oh, you're that Cameron woman_,' Aunt Billy gets all cranky and she says, 'My name is Billy. Not that Cameron woman." She cracked up laughing.

"They say that to Nanna, too. But she doesn't mind. To everyone she's just 'Mrs Cameron'."

Her recollecting of earlier memories was interrupted; for just then she was struck by something. She got up in a hurry to catch the tail-end of a blazing shooting star whizzing past the darkened sky. Hands on heart, she made a desperate wish; it may seem childish but it buoyed her spirit and it gave her hope. "I wish you were here. I just want to hug you."

Bryce bagged everything up, surveyed his surroundings and made sure nothing was left behind. He re-entered the building the way he got up on the roof, through an attic window left opened. Racing down the stairs two steps at a time, he surprised a couple of people on their way up. He smiled at them, said a polite "Hello" and continued on his merry way. He dumped his rubbish in a bin, walked to the middle of the road, then paused directly across TBR giving him the death stare. Several drivers cursed and beeped angrily.

So here they were.

The wolf and the Black Rhino in a deathly stare down. He waited til TBR was on his feet before bolting in the direction of the sea. He has already chosen an isolated strip of beach. This show was for the two of them. No collateral damage. He didn't even have to worry about the posse. This was personal. TBR wouldn't have any satisfaction unless he was able to do him alone.

Traffic snarled with Wolf and the Black Rhino chasing each other down the middle of the road. Weaving, ducking, hurdling, and sliding. He had the advantage of two good legs but the Black Rhino was tough. A bandaged leg would not stop his murderous intent. The longer the chase went on, the angrier the Zimbabwean became. Not a good mental state to be in when you want to kill someone. Killers have to be dispassionate, detached, and unemotional.

Finally, after a good half hour of extreme chase, Bryce reached the isolated part of the beach. He rested behind a craggy rock, emptied a bottle of water down him his throat to hydrate and to gather his wits. A couple of minutes later, he heard the crunching sound of sand underfoot. He popped up from behind the rock, the Black Rhino appeared in his line of sight.

He came out. Arms out, holding his Glock 17. Cocked and ready to fire. He walked towards the African. "Time we end this," he said.

"So what you're just gonna shoot me like a coward?"

With dagger looks, Bryce replied, "You can talk." They eagle-eyed each other. Calculating every move. Bryce could feel his anger bubbling over, but he put a lid on it as best he could. He'd very much like to kill the scum of the earth but he also needed to be able to look himself in the mirror, so he lowered his weapon. But his eyes never left the '_Puma_' logo on TBR's shirt.

The Black Rhino smirked, _Come on, lower it a bit more. _As soon as Bryce did, he pulled his favourite Glock 34, 9mm pistol from the small of his back. Just what Bryce was waiting for. One on one. Face to face. They fired at the same time.

Bryce didn't miss, he aimed for the biggest part of the human body, the upper torso. He has been eyeing _that_ Puma, zeroing in on it and it was bull's eye. Right on the heart of the heartless beast. TBR had aimed for his head. A smaller target although a guaranteed instant kill. Bryce walked over to the hunched figure, "You missed."

Just to be sure, he gave TBR another one to the back of the head, "That's for the old man."

The beach was still deserted, so he took his time to sanitise TBR. From the right pocket Bryce pulled two US$100 bills. He sighed. He took the gun, the phone, wallet and wrist watch; then he rolled the dead man into the water. He watched the lifeless body bob up and down in the surf until the sea swallowed it up. Then he tossed in the contents of the wallet, one at a time, followed by the wallet itself. Then the inscribed watch followed into the watery grave.

The gun and the phone he'd give to Spike. It might reveal who ordered the hit on the Algerian.

At exactly 19:00 hour, after a nightmare-free sleep, they swam back to Tarifa, Spain.

They were homeward bound.


	12. Mad as Mad Max

**Mad as Mad Max**

Exactly midnight, after another five hours underwater, they reached Tarifa, Spain. They boarded the yacht relieved to have made it out in one piece. They momentarily laid on the deck exhausted as hell. They could be forgiven if they had lain there all night, but deeply ingrained discipline forced them to their feet. Any longer on deck and they would fall asleep and compromise the mission. Having risked life and limbs, the last thing they wanted was to cause an international incident.

They went inside, shut the windows and doors to minimise sound drift. In the dark, they stripped off the wetsuit and changed back to the only clothes they've had on for close to a week. Thank God they had been laundered at least once.

In hushed tones, Spike told Bryce he would never forget how his socks felt like stiffened cardboard when he finally took them off his feet; or the smell of his clothes that was both rancid and pongy. And his teeth, the filmy feeling on his teeth! "Never again," he said, "But it didn't seem to bother you."

"I've been gritty and dirty more years of my life than I was clean. You think you were dirty, huh! Try being submerged in mud for three days – then you'd know dirty."

Spike cringed. "There's just no amount of money they could pay me to do that", he said.

"That's just it, no one does it for the money."

Bryce started the engine, it sounded so loud in the quite. Spanish coast guard authorities have been known for being watchful and vigilant. They shadow water vessels, especially ones that travel at night, if they so much as appear suspicious. It would be really bad to be mistaken for drug runners now and be boarded by authorities. It dawned on Spike that really they were not out of the woods yet.

Maneuvering the yacht out of its moorings in a tightly packed marina, in the dark, required an amazing level of skill and an equally amazing amount of luck. The only light sources were the moon, the stars, the town lights on the horizon and the few in the marina. Now though wasn't the time to hesitate. As soon as they were in the open water, the Geek asked the question he'd been dying to ask, "Tell me, how is it possible to have a tank that last 10 hours in the water, even if for argument sake, we were just low underwater and we were light breathers?"

Bryce smiled, "They were not the same tanks." He softly laughed at Spike's facial expression, "After we stored the gear, I sent the coordinates to the Asset on the ground who re-supplied us with fresh ones. They're specialist military gear, we couldn't have found them anywhere unless supplied to us."

"Man, I wouldn't want anyone else at my back..."

"Been doing it a long time..."

"I don't know, buddy, a lot of it is down to you. Just the way you are."

"Well, it's mutual. If I had a whimpering, whining, whinging geek in there, I'd have lost it." They laughed at each other.

Now that they were in the open water, drifting slowly, they could enjoy it a bit more. The views outside looked surreal shrouded in twinkling night light. The surface of the water was dotted with water crafts of all shapes and sizes, bobbing up and down, and some moving smoothly across it. All lit up from stern to bow, they appeared to be floating lanterns.

Somewhere in Gregory Downs, Billy had been nagging non-stop. She persisted from early morning until nearly mid-day; she wouldn't take no for an answer.

Raf finally stepped in, "Belle, please, for the love of God do as she says. It wouldn't kill you to get out of the house. I promise, you'll enjoy the drive to town."

"Can I come, too?" asked Rajo.

Feeling ganged up upon, Belle finally agreed to go. "But how far is it?"

"Just round the corner," said Billy with a straight face.

"Why don't I believe you?" she said laughing. "Ok, give me 5 minutes to get ready."

Back at the Strait of Gibraltar, it was nearly 03:00. At the end of the pier Spike, stopped, shook the Wolf's hand and said, "You're mad as Mad Max, buddy." Then added, "I leave today, can't wait to go home."

Bryce smiled, slapped the geek's arm, "Give our love to Win."

"And ours to Raf, Belle and Billy." Then they went in opposite directions.

Spike hailed a cab to get him to his hotel faster. He had no time for sleep, with copious amount of caffeine fuelling him he researched online for a quicker way home. _There has to be another way!_ He found it. He ditched the tickets the genius at START booked for him. He thought to himself, obviously, _that_ genius only ever did e-travel.

He hoped against hope as he booked for a seat that there would be one left available at such short notice. There was! Hallelujah! When he finally printed out his ticket, he was utterly convinced someone up there was looking after him. His self-designed itinerary would bring him home in 19 hours instead of over 24. Without a doubt, he could teach START staff a thing or two about travel arrangement.

He checked out of the hotel at 04:30. Boarded the 06:20 Air Arabia to Madrid Spain. It arrived on time at 09:55. He rushed to the KLM check-in counter for a connecting flight to Toronto via New York, it left at10:30 scheduled to arrive at Pearson International at 21:17 hours.

While KLM was over the Atlantic, Guinevere 'Winnie' Camden-Scarlatti was frantically packing. "Are you sure you want to do this?" asked her mother, Winifreda.

"Mom, Spike's on his way home from holiday. I need to be there when he gets home."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

She crossed her fingers behind her back, "'Cause we'll come visit, ok? Together."

Her parents knew they were defeated and backed off. Moppet and Serenity were happy as Larry, wagged their tail, jumped in the car without hesitation, and lolled their tongue as if to say "Bye now, see you later. We're off to see Daddy." Win smilingly waved at her parents and drove off to their love nest. Little did she know that by 22:00 hours that same day Spike would be home!

Mad as Mad Max Bryce arrived back at his hotel, barefoot, disheveled and tousled . He asked the lovely hotel concierge to book his return flight, with a request thrown in to be upgraded from business to first class for the London to Singapore leg of this trip. Bryce Mabo Cameron would not have been able to do it, but his alter-ego Byron Rice could. After all, his cover was that of a frequent flyer millionaire playboy.

His next order of business was to contact his handler to say all went well. He knew from experience that Intelligence would want a debrief as soon as his feet touched Darwin so he asked to be met at the Airport, making it clear he had no intention of boarding _HMAS Toowoomba_ for a chit-chat. But he also knew from experience that no pencil pushing bureaucrats ever listened to operatives. Predictably, a helicopter would be sent to pick him up and ordered to whisk him to the Naval Frigate. He smiled to himself, _It would be one very brave Navy pilot who would dare fly me anywhere but home. _He cracked his knuckles, "Game on." Mad Max was alive and well.

Bryce showered and jumped into bed but couldn't sleep. Too much adrenaline? _Nah. _He couldn't be bothered with formality, he simply grabbed his hotel room keycard, wrapped himself in a robe and made the call from the foyer. Sue answered.

"Hey Mum."

"Bryce! You're alive." She said cackling happily.

"How's everyone?"

"Very good, we're all well. But they're all in town. Your sister dragged your wife out of the house. It took some doing."

"I'm glad," he said. "I'm flying out tonight, home in two days early morning. Can't be more specific."

"Do you want me to tell her?"

"No... it's a surprise."

"Ok, take care."

"I will... see you soon. Love you, Mum."

He asked the receptionist to wake him up at 17:00 hours, "I'm checking out."

Then he slept until it was time to move his arse. From thereon, it was fast and furious. He boarded the 19:15 Monarch Airlines flight from Gib to London which arrived at 21:00 hours. He then transferred to the 21:55 Qantas Airline flight for Singapore. Changed to another plane for the connecting flight to Darwin. It would have killed a man less fit. But if he hadn't upgraded to the sleeper class for the London to Singapore leg, it would have probably killed him, too.

As expected, a helo was waiting for him at the rooftop of the Darwin International's car park. He nodded to the pilot and gave the coordinates to Cameron Country.

"With due respect, Sir, I've been ordered to take you to HMS Toowoomba."

"Well, the order has changed cause you see, I can put you to sleep and fly this beast myself."

"You wouldn't do that, Sir. It's a criminal offence."

He bored into the pilot's eyes, "Do I look to you like I care."

"No, Sir, but what do I tell them."

"I don't care what you tell them, but you're taking me home. Understood."

"Yes, Sir." The pilot called _HMAS Toowoomba_ to let them know that the passenger was uncooperative and didn't wish to be taken on-board the Frigate.

The handler angrily asked to speak with the Wolf, "Sir, someone wants to talk to you."

The head-set was passed on to Bryce. As expected the handler prattled on, lecturing him about protocol and responsibility and command structure and etc, etc, etc. The Navy Pilot sniggered his head off as Bryce "snored" through the head set.

"Cameron, are you there? I'll have you Court martialled!" he threatened.

Bryce removed the head set, looked at the pilot, "Who's this idiot? I've left the Regiment, how on earth is he gonna court martial me?"

Right, the pilot decided he'd rather be on the Wolf's good side and flew him home.

When he landed back at the Frigate minus a passenger, he was summoned, "Where's Cameron?"

"Sir, you wouldn't believe this but he jumped! I could hardly be expected to fly the helo and stop him at the same time, could I?"


	13. Back Where They Belong

**Back Where They Belong**

It was the dogs that alerted Winnie someone special has arrived home. It couldn't have been an intruder for they weren't growling, snarling and baring their teeth. They were downright crazy. Moppet was barking, rolling on the floor expecting someone to tickle her tummy. Wiggling her hips on the floor, the golden retriever seemed to say, _Any minute now_.

Serenity was blindly running around like crazy, bumping into things, tipping them over, and knocking against her legs.

She was hysterical with laughter, "What's wrong with you two?"

Then she heard the lock being turned, the dogs leaped up and raced her to the door. No contest. She was relegated to last. Moppet and Serenity were jumping up and down around Spike, rubbing against his legs, barking madly.

Win stood against the couch watching their dogs' antics. Spike made a comment that at least the dogs were happy to see him. She said, "I so want to be with you this very second but do you think they'll let me?" He smiled and did what the dogs expected of him. He laid on the floor and wrestled with them, knocking down more and more things off tables and shelves.

When they were finally exhausted, Winnie firmly spoke to the canines and said, "Out now."

The two knew who was Top Dog and obeyed willingly. Spike looked at Winnie in utter disbelief, "You could have done that 10 minutes ago." She laughed, laid on the floor next to him and said, "I missed you like hell. I'm not letting you out of my sight ever again."

"It's so good to be home," said the sooky one.

That entire week-end, they practically had to be surgically separated.

It took Bryce another day and a half to get home due to the day/time difference. It was just seven in the morning but Billy and Raf were already out in the paddock. They looked up when they heard bird's rotors thumping sound as it neared, the helo's down draft whipped up dust and dirt like a mini tornado.

"Come on, let's go," Billy said tugging at her husband's shirt. Raf rolled his eyes and said, "Can't wait to take you home to Toronto."

Sue and Belle were in the kitchen having breakfast when the rattling windows and pressed steel roof gave them cause for pause. They rushed out to see what was going on. "I hope it's not an unexpected gale force wind," said Sue in a worried tone.

_There's no mistaking that sound._

Rajo opened his eyes and rolled himself out of the hammock, rushed out his bedroom in his pyjamas. He raced out to see his Dad arrive in grand style. The helo didn't touch down but hovered 10 feet off the ground. Bryce had his backpack firmly attached to him so it couldn't move out of place and get in the way of his stunt. They held their collective breathes as Bryce came out of the cabin, stood on the landing gear, held on to the frame two-handed as he dangled down it. Then he jumped the remaining four feet. So, when the Navy Pilot reported he jumped off, he technically did.

Family members were coming from all directions. First there was Rajo, then there was Billy and Raf and then there was Sue. Belle hung back. She happily let everyone have their turn, her heart thumping loudly in its cavity as she watched the happy homecoming. In a flash, she thought, _This is my husband of one week_.

She leaned on the veranda's column, a hand wrapped around it, and watched him toss Rajo in the air, kiss and hug the Cameron women, and then hug Raf.

He turned to her, his eyes gave her an appraising look. She was dressed in an airy, pale yellow kaftan-style shirt, denim shorts and a pair of strappy sandals, just the sort of outfit to survive the hot outback. But yesterday, when she went to town, she went to town on her hair. Her waist-length hair has been reduced to millimetres. It was shaved so short his hair was longer. _At least_, he thought, _unlike Billy, she isn't a tomboy_. She looked down not sure if he'd be upset about it.

He walked over to hug her. She melted in his arms and said, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too." He stroked her head and delighted that the spiky tufts of hair were light to the touch.

"I like your new hair-do," he said. "Now, you're more handsome than me." She chuckled. He had the ability to make her laugh.

They all went in together. Everyone eager to share their news, which was good since if the conversation was up to him, they'd hear nothing. In two hours, Bryce had been briefed on just about everything that had happened in his absence, except the financial side of things. Belle wasn't prepared to share her news. At any rate, after a few bookkeeping adjustments, it appeared there still might be a hope and a future – provided certain things happened in the interim.

Raf gave Bryce a list of things that needed to be done urgently, "As in yesterday, mate."

He read it and felt his heart drop to his belly. Billy and Belle noticed the slight change in him and the two Cameron women exchanged quick psychic messages.

_He's troubled_.

_Sure is._

_What can we do?_

_Wait and see._

He had heard everything he needed to hear, now it was time to see for himself. He took his Akubra hat from its hook and turned to Belle, "Coming?"

Rajo piped up, "Can I come too?"

"No, you're staying with me," said Sue.

The boy crossed his arms on his chest, pouted and said, "Humph." Wolf looked at the boy and said, "That's no way to treat your Nanna. Have you ever seen me act like that towards her?"

The boy shook his head and said, "No..."

"Well, you know what to do, don't you?"

Rajo turned to his grandmother and said, "Sorry, Nanna. Can I go now?"

Sue said, "Of course you can... but... you can't have ice cream."

"What kind?"

"Mango."

He put his hand on his chin, thought about it for one-tenth of a second then said, "Ice cream." Bryce laughed at the thought that his currency was but frozen delight.

"See you guys shortly." As they were leaving, they heard Rajo bargaining with Sue how many scoops he could have. Belle observed, "One day Rajo will rule the world."

They drove around the paddock. In the week he was away, many things have been done. A large section of broken fences have been re-erected. The dam was full of water and the garden was thriving.

They walked hand in hand. Bryce pointed out the area of land where he intended to plant a hundred Wollemi pine trees, "It was thought to have been extinct until a bush walker discovered it in the Blue Mountains, near Sydney 13 years ago. It's the ultimate survivor."

He embraced her from the back and said, "I could lose it all tomorrow but not without giving it my all."

Changing the topic, he turned her around and said, "What do you say we continue our truncated honeymoon and make love all week."

She smiled then she remembered something, "I'd love to... but there's a slight problem."

He raised an eye brow. She blushed, not sure how to say it, "Am waiting," he said.

She made a face, "Ah...I have my period."

He drew her close in a tender embrace and said, "We'll make love... we don't have to have sex to do it."

She sniffled, he dried her tears and said, "Look what I found. A weepy pixie."


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Three months after the hair-raising mission, Sgt Parker invited Spike Scarlatti back to his office. The conversation went like this:

Boss: Spike, I'd like to invite you to my office for coffee.

Spike: I don't think so, Boss. You know I love you, but there's a limit to what I'd do for you in the future. (Parker laughed). It's not funny, Boss. I'm still going through treatment with Dr Luria.

Boss: Don't lie to me, Spike. I just caught up with the good psychologist and she doesn't even remember you. Come on, Spike... don't you want to know what you risked life and limbs for?

Spike: (Very curious) You can tell me over the phone. My cell has anti-eaves dropping software and your phone... I'm guessing it has one, too. Maybe even military grade.

Boss: Spike, Spike, Spike... you just never have to know then. (knowing the Geek won't be able to resist.)

Spike: (Very, very curious) Ok, I'm coming... what time?

Boss: Any time today is good.

After shift, Spike turned up at Parker's START City office in casual garb, looking happy. Parker appraised him and nodded, pleased to see his protégé looking sharp and still easy-going.

"Sit down," offered his former Boss. "I'm afraid we only have instant coffee around here."

Scarlatti grimaced, "Pass," he said. "Death by instant coffee is not what I want on my obit."

They settled down on the settee this being an informal briefing. Parker's smile told Spike what he already knew. The Morocco mission was a success.

The Boss leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. In a low voice, he said, "I can't tell you specific details but I can tell you some of the outcome of your mission. You saved at least 20 people, all peace-loving Muslim clergies in the States and Canada. Two fall guys were freed from 'Gitmo and five real conspirators were arrested. The U.S. was able to trace how $120 million of aid money was siphoned off to purchase arms and ammunition for the insurgents. Early days yet, but the fall outs would have huge repercussions. Michaelangelo Scarlatti, on behalf of Her Majesty's Service, thank you."

Spike beamed a wide smile, fixing the lapel of his shirt, he said, "So when do I get my James Bond outfit?"

- The End -

* * *

_A/N: 'Cameron Country' was first published here in full. You can now find it on fictionpressdotcom. Although it was written as an action thriller, it was also a love story. _

_A story of unbridled love. Here's an excerpt, one of my most favourite chapters in the book. _

* * *

**The Promise**

"Come on, hurry up," says the demanding driver. Billy couldn't wait for them to move their arse.

"Hold on, wait a minute, the world's not gonna end in 60 seconds," replied Sue, "We need plastic plates and forks." Sue went back inside the house, Belle followed, "Let me help you."

From the pantry, Sue took out a big plastic container, "Everything's in here," she said. She also gave the red-head a straw hat, "Never leave the house without it. A ranga and very fair skin, bad combination around here."

"'Ranga'?"

Her mother-in-law-to-be smiled, "It means red-haired." The Canadian laughed, _It's so quirky._

Sue sat in the front passenger seat, Belle occupied a seat in the second cabin. Billy left the windows down, "It's a short trip," she said, "Not a good idea to use air conditioning, it'll get you sick, going from hot to cold, then hot again."

Belle used her straw hat to fan herself, in the mid-afternoon, the heat was oppressive. Sue turned to inspect her, "Dear, dear. You looked like a cooked lobster already. Here's water. Drink," handing her a bottle. "There are only two seasons in the Gulf Savannah, wet and dry seasons. From November to April is wet season, with frequent cyclonic events between December and March. Dry season is May to October. I'm afraid, at certain time of the year, temperature can get up to 40 °C (104 °F).

"She's lying," said Billy. "It gets hotter than 40." She drank a mouthful of water and a huge heap of regret, _What have I done_?

Billy slowed the Ute, "Belle, look there..." pointing to something coiled in the middle of the road, "Carpet python, don't worry if you see one of those, they're not poisonous." The snake was olive green, with pale, dark-edged blotches. "Sometimes the skin can be stripes or cross-bands."

The flame-haired lass swallowed, not exactly what she wanted to see on her first outing upon her return to Cameron Country. "How long do they get?"

"Only up to 3 metres (9.84 feet) fully mature," answered Billy. Suddenly Toronto felt so much safer.

Sue made a comment to Billy, "Where are you going? This isn't the way to the paddock."

"To the river," she smiled. The tiny one looked at Belle from the rear view mirror, "It's the best time to see it, when the wet comes, the river overflows and most of the beautiful things you'd see would be underwater.

"This part of the river is on the property, that's where the back packers are camped at the moment. They'll all be moving on in about two weeks...on to better climate and better things." Belle looked out the windows and felt the intense heat, but the scenery outside was surreal. Moments later, she heard Billy say, "We're here."

Camped under the shades were Bryce's seasonal workers, in swimming costumes, but he and Rajo were nowhere to be seen. She heard Sue say "Work's finished. In this part, you start early and finish early. It's much too hot to work in the middle of the day. Then, they start again after five, if there's anything else to do."

They served food from the back of the Ute. Billy told everyone to return the plates and forks in the box, "They're recyclable so don't throw them out."

Billy watched her glance around, "Looking for Bryce?"

"And Rajo," she replied.

"I'm guessing they went fishing and Raf's gone with them. There's a lot of Barramundi around here if you know where to look." They looked up as young people ventured into the river for a swim, Billy hollered a reminder, "Watch out for freshies."

Billy turned back to her "Freshies are freshwater crocs, don't worry... they don't eat humans. Speaking of eating, we better get some down you. What would you like?"

"Sandwich would do." Sue handed out the sandwiches and the three of them found themselves sitting on the back of the Ute.

From a distance they saw a mud-covered four wheel drive approaching. It stopped next to the Ute, Rajo jumped down excitedly, "Nan, we caught a lot of fish." The men appeared with a bucket each full of barramundi. Billy jumped down, wrapped her arms around Raf.

Bryce put the bucket down to help Sue off the back of the Ute, while Rajo offered to help her get down.

Raf came over to greet her, "Hi, good to see you." She returned the smile.

"How was Toronto?"

"Same as always, cold as ice," they laughed as they reminisced about their place of origin.

Rajo was very excited, "Dad, are we cooking the fish now?"

"Sure, why not?" Everyone gathered around as they watched Bryce effortlessly remove the scales and gut the catch with a knife, "Who wants to give it a try?" A fearless German tourist volunteered to gut the fish under Bryce's watchful eyes.

"Easy, next?" Nearly everyone had a go with varying degree of success.

"Let's gather wood." Bryce got up and Rajo followed like a puppy. Soon, a cooking pit was dug and fire was going.

Belle walked to a spot under a tree and sat to admire the river, free flowing and teeming with fishes; the sand bank opposite blanketed in grass. Moments later, Rajo slid down next to her, "Hey," he said. "I brought you something to eat." She accepted a fish skewered in a stick. She pinched a small amount, tried it, "Um, it's delicious."

"Because it's very fresh," he said.

"Aren't you having any?"

"I've had one already."

The fish was stuffed with tomatoes and red onions, cooked slowly over the fire. "Where did you get the stuffing?" she asked as she swatted the flies that were attracted to her food.

"From the salad, we picked them off," he said with a laugh. While she ate, the boy laid on the ground, his fingers interlocked behind his head. Although his eyes were closed, he must have been waiting for her to finish because as soon as she picked the fish closed to the bone, he asked, "Belle, tell me about your life BGD."

"BGD?"

He opened his eyes, "Before Gregory Downs," he replied and she chuckled.

"Toronto, it is very cold and windy."

"Is it as cold as eating snow cones?"

"Colder," she said. Then she told him about ice skating in the park in the winter and swimming in the lakes in summer. She told him about the offices in high rise buildings she went to for work; and a little of what she did for a living BGD.

He sat up and said, "Ok, thank you."

"Don't you want to hear the rest?"

He squinted at her and wrinkled his nose, then shook his head, "Ah no..." he said. "You're life BGD is kinda boring." The child's honesty was brutal, she laughed out loud and thought what hope had she got when even an eight year old thought her life was boring.

"What's funny?" They turned around to find Bryce towering behind them. Rajo took his chance to escape; he scrambled to his feet and rushed off to Billy and Raf.

Bryce sat next to her. "Nothing, just that Rajo told me my life BGD was boring." He laughed and his handsome face brightened.

They were quiet for a moment, then unexpectedly, he said, "We have to set a date for the wedding." She looked at him, unable to respond. She turned away and exhaled, the air seemed heavy and oppressive. He took it to mean she was uncertain. "You're having doubts?"

He picked up soil and ran the granules through his fingers, "I suppose I don't blame you."

She turned to him again, "I'm sure about you," she said. "I'm just not sure about Gregory Downs."

"That's what Mum said," then he said something that totally blew her away. "Give it a year, Pixie, After a year, if you still don't want to live here, we'll sell the land. I'll pack it all in, we'll move where you want and we'll do what you want to do. It's a promise. I give you my word."

She was rendered speechless. He waited for a response. She studied the ebony coloured, sculptured face with bluey green eyes and said, "What about your dream for Cameron Country?"

"I don't see the point if I'm just doing it for myself," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, "So, I'm asking again... will you marry me?" She had no doubt it took a whole heap of courage for him to ask her again.

She felt for the twine ring in her finger, and thought, _Why the hell not?_ She replied, "Yes." His eyes softened, reflecting relief and joy. He reached to touch her slender neck, "There's only one date for the wedding, it's seven month away."

"In May?"

"Fifth of May, Mum's birthday, everyone will be home. But we can get married at the local registry next week."

"Would that be necessary?"

"Yeah, so I don't have to worry about you changing your mind," he winked. He got up and pulled her up to him, hugged her possessively. Just then, the unthinkable happened.

The phone... it was ringing... again.

He slowly released her, she tensed. The wolf's breathing slowed. Not taking his eyes off her, he pulled the phone out of his pocket, then turned and walked away slowly. He said just one word, "Wolf," then there was nothing.

He closed the phone, turned back to her and said, "I'm going for a few days." She felt chills up and down her spine.

"When?"

"In two days, so we're getting married tomorrow."

That night, lying next to him, she struggled to go to sleep. Her life went from one extreme to the other; from boring to overly exciting. She listened to the hum of the air-conditioning, hoping it would lull her to sleep but to no avail.

Turning to lie on top of him, she felt his hand up and down her back, "Talk to me," he said.

"What do you want me say?"

"What's worrying you?"

"That I don't know where you're going and for how long?"

"Trust me. I'll be home before you know it."

"Is that a promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

_Thank you to all who read this story - and especially to those who read it a second time. Thanks to all who reviewed it the first time, it was my most reviewed story, which is saying something. Thanks to all who 'favorited' it the first time. _

_Your encouragement had been the fuel that kept me writing stories after stories._

_If 'Cameron Country' is ever published as a book it's only because of YOU. God bless._

_Angelinsydney_


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